


Off the Record

by Carmenlire



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Businessman Magnus Bane, CEO Magnus Bane, Closeted Alec Lightwood, Famous Alec Lightwood, Famous Magnus Bane, Fashion Designer Magnus Bane, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Journalist Alec Lightwood, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Mundane Alec Lightwood, Mundane Magnus Bane, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2019-10-05 20:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: Isabelle laughs so hard that Magnus grows mildly concerned before she quiets down on the other end of the line. “Oh, no. Jace wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. I’m talking about my eldest brother, Alec."Straightening in his chair, Magnus has minor heart failure as he hoarsely asks, “Alec? Alec Lightwood is your brother?”Globe trotting, Pulitzer prize winning journalist Alec Lightwood needs a suit for an awards ceremony. Enter Magnus Bane, household name, who's built a fashion empire. They hit it off but there's just one problem: Magnus can't get a read on Alec's interest as Alec remains infuriatingly tight-lipped, since coming out could jeopardize his career.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I've had this idea for ages and I'm excited to finally share it! I'll be tracking #OTRfic on twitter and there's a spotify playlist titled OTRfic!
> 
> I hope you like this new story! Happy Reading :)

“Lower the hem a quarter of an inch and make a note in the file to have the model wear their hair up during the Paris Fashion Show next spring.”

Magnus studies the mannequin in front of him with a critical eye, making sure that he’s satisfied with the dress. There will be a final round of alterations before he formally adds the design to his portfolio-- before it lands an official spot in his spring line-- but for now he’s satisfied.

Turning around, it’s to see Clary scribbling furiously in her notebook, making the notes he mentioned. He’d be lost without Biscuit, who’d quickly become his favorite secretary when she’d been sent over from the NYU Institute of Fashion and Design her freshman year. She was a quick study, meticulous, and had a passion for fashion that would serve her well in the industry.

Magnus is on the fourth floor of Bane Fashions, also known as his experimental floor. The area was divided into a few sections, each of which was big enough to fit an entire penthouse apartment with room leftover. The space was light and airy with exposed pipes and cement floors and it’s where Magnus kept his designs that had yet to be revealed.

A dozen apprentices and designers catch his attention and as he looks over fabric cuts and patterns and ensembles, his eye is on the clock. While Magnus worked like a dervish, he liked to relax and catch the news when he could and luckily he was spending the day in his office with no meetings scheduled until late afternoon.

Magnus barely reaches out before a latte lands in his hand. With a nod of thanks to Clary, Magnus takes a quick sip as he listens to one of his apprentices, Dot, run through a problem with him.

It’s just a few minutes discussion as Magnus tells her what the best solution is-- in his humble opinion-- and then he’s turning toward the elevators, Clary in step beside him.

“What does the rest of my day look like, dear?”

Clary doesn’t even look at Magnus’s agenda before she replies, “You have a meeting with the finance department at two and then dinner with a potential investor tonight at nine. You let them pick the restaurant and they chose--"

“Some horribly pretentious and overpriced French restaurant, I’m sure.” Magnus’s voice is annoyed as he sighs and takes another drink from his cup, finishing it off.

Investors always wanted to flaunt their cash and they always picked restaurants that considered a serving size half a carrot and a spoonful of risotto.

Making a mental note to stop by The Jade Wolf after his business dinner concludes, Magnus looks over at Clary as they step into the empty elevator.

Inserting his access card, Magnus asks, “But until then--”

“Until then, you’re free. That gives you just over an hour for lunch.”

Smiling, Magnus lets Clary off the elevator first as they walk into the executive suite. Clary’s space was directly in front of the bank of elevators with Magnus’s office right behind. His office took half the floor and was complete with a fireplace, three separate sitting areas and an ensuite bathroom. His view overlooked Fifth Avenue and one wall overlooked another design space with a one way mirror collage.

He’d bought the prime real estate and constructed the headquarters for his company almost ten years ago. It’d been a leap of faith and the cost had given him his first grey hair at the ripe old age of twenty four.

The risk had been worth it, though, and as Magnus pours a glass of whiskey-- it’s happy hour somewhere-- he brings the glass with him to the wall of windows that overlooks one of the busiest streets in the world.

He’s earned his place here. It’s a place that screams wealth and prestige yet still doesn’t take into account the thousands and thousands of hours of work and desperation that had spurred him to build his empire from the ground up.

Bane Fashions was one of the biggest players in the industry, not an inconsiderable feat when most labels were over a hundred years old. Magnus had started right here in the city and he was an alumnus of Clary’s school. He’d been on the fast track since high school and with some luck, Bane was a household name.

He’s worked damned hard, Magnus reflects as he moves over to one of the couches. Taking a sip from his tumbler, he reaches for a remote and a few seconds later a television is rising from its concealed place in a storage cabinet.

Magnus has more guilty pleasures than he can count but one that not many people would suspect is that he has a weakness for the news.

Well, one reporter in particular.

Turning the channel to CNN, Magnus sees that he has just a few minutes before the international news program switches segments. In the meantime, lunch is brought up to him by one of his kitchen wait staff and left on the end table next to his whiskey. 

Listening with half an ear to a financial adviser lament about the oncoming recession, Magnus winces and hopes that he’s just another pundit full of hot air. He really doesn’t want to think about dealing with an economic downturn as well as the regular day to day stress of running a multi-billion dollar company.

The news changes to one of its field reporters and as Magnus takes his first bite of his stir fry, he relaxes into the couch, ready to learn about what’s going on in the world today.

 _“Good afternoon, this is Alec Lightwood reporting from Norway. The president is set to visit later this evening in order to prepare for his meeting with rival leader_. . .”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus can’t help but scoff at the screen. The president was an unmitigated asshole and while Magnus woefully feels a need to keep up on the current buffoonery of the current administration, at least half the reason he liked to tune into this particular program was because of the reporter who lessened the blow with his damning good looks.

He was usually clean shaven but occasionally sported stubble that made Magnus weak in the knees. He alternated between casual and business attire according to his assignment and location and Magnus can admit that he loves the plain-- yet _exceptionally_ well tailored-- slacks and button-ups as much as jeans and a t-shirt.

His eyes are sharp and calculating, holding an intelligence that makes Magnus want to debate with him-- about anything, even everything-- and he was reportedly a great person when he wasn’t standing in front of a camera, too. He was reputedly an amicable coworker, if a bit surly, and he was often caught at charity functions.

No doubt about it, Alec Lightwood was a triple threat and Magnus doesn’t even try to pretend that he doesn’t find the intrepid journalist attractive as hell. 

“Don’t you get tired of watching that garbage?”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus doesn’t look up at the interruption. “Just because I prefer not to go through life painfully ignorant doesn’t mean that it’s garbage. I like being politically cognizant.”

He hears Ragnor scoff as he settles on the opposite end of the couch with his ever present mug of tea.

“You and I both know you don’t watch the news in an effort to be well-informed.” Ragnor’s voice becomes particularly scathing as he continues, “Oh, doesn’t Alec look so handsome reporting in Beirut. That khaki looks just fabulous against his skin. And don’t get me started on his windblown hair. I’d let that man model anything of mine in a heartbeat.”

Magnus barely keeps his lips from twitching up even as he scowls at his best friend’s hideous exaggeration. “I do not act like that,” Magnus says defensively. “And, you’re lying to yourself if the news isn’t just a little more palatable coming from his lovely baritone.”

Raising a brow, Magnus continues, “Plus, you do know that Alec Lightwood is a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, don’t you?”

“Even if I didn’t, I’m sure you’d tell me,” Ragnor replies pleasantly and Magnus is almost impressed. 

He can barely tell that Ragnor’s clenching his teeth.

“Well, let me go ahead and illuminate you. Lightwood has traveled all over the world on dangerous assignments and he’s rubbed elbows with dignitaries and revolutionists alike. He’s remarkably young for having accomplished so much.”

“Other people are into bands or tv shows. You, however, get hot under the collar for a journalist,” Ragnor replies wryly.

Rolling his eyes, Magnus finishes his stir fry in a few bites that are just a bit too large. Ragnor watches him, mildly aghast.

It’s just his luck that Alec signs off a few moments later with his usual spiel and Magnus makes sure to turn the volume up just to annoy Ragnor further. 

“ _This has been Alec Lightwood reporting from Norway with CNN’s State of the Union. Tune back in at five o’clock to hear the latest_.”

Magnus’s office is silent as the screen moves back to the two news anchors at CNN’s headquarters in the City.

Magnus stands, wiping his hands on a napkin and throwing it on top of his empty plate. Making his way to his desk that’s as organized as it is overflowing, Magnus settles in his chair that overlooks the rest of the space. 

Ragnor watches him for a minute, one leg crossed over the other as he sips at is tea.

“When’s the last time you went out?”

Magnus looks up from the file he’d grabbed, reviewing the financial documents in preparation for his meeting with Ragnor and the rest of the department’s team in forty five minutes.

“I don’t see where that’s any of your business,” Magnus answers primly. “Since when are you even interested in my love life?”

Pinning him with a steady gaze, his oldest friend just raises a brow. “I think you need a hobby.”

Laughing a little, Magnus looks back down at his quarterly report, sliding on a a pair of black framed glasses. He always breathes the tiniest sigh of relief when he sees that the company’s in the black.

“I went out with a lovely woman from Denmark a few months ago. We had drinks, she took me back to her place, and I was back in the office the next morning at eight sharp.”

“You didn’t see her again?”

Magnus looks up at that, over his glasses that he can’t abide but needs all the same. “We had a perfectly nice evening but no, I didn’t try to see her again.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m busy, Ragnor,” Magnus says with exasperation. He gestures toward the mountain of paperwork in this quarter’s fiscal report, everything spread out over his desk. “Does it look like I have time to date?”

Sniffing, Ragnor just mutters, “I said you need a hobby.”

“And you think a person should be my hobby? I’m far too busy with the company to worry about my personal life.”

“No, you were busy ten years ago, fifteen, when you were just building your brand and every day was a gamble. You’re established now, Magnus. You delegate when you want to but the problem is that you just don’t want to. You work here so late that I regularly find you using your coat for a blanket while you catch a few hours’ nap on one of these blasted couches. You do-- rarely-- take vacations and you have time for yourself but is it enough?”

“I think it’s more than enough. I didn’t build Bane Fashions by--”

“Resting on your laurels, _yes_ , I know. Still, you’re stable now, Magnus. You can afford to hire another assistant and take a step back from the company. Everyone knows that you have rigid standards and anyone you hire would be great for the job. You can trust your staff to share your vision and keep the ship headed in the right direction.”

Sighing, Magnus pulls off his glasses before pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looks up again it’s to see Ragnor patiently waiting on him.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do work more than I should but what’s the harm in it. I’m perfectly content with my little piece of the world and it makes me happy to oversee it. If I _like_ being busy and I _like_ devoting so much time to my brand and if the price I pay is being single, then who am I to complain?”

“Don’t you see, friend,” Ragnor starts softly. “You deserve to have both and I’d hate for you to wake up one day and resent your company when it’s all you have left.”

“Where are you planning on going,” Magnus asks with a raised brow.

Waving that away, Ragnor stands, setting his empty mug on an end table coaster. “Mock all you want, my dear, but one day you will find someone to tear down those walls you’ve built around your heart. Mark my words.”

Ragnor’s voice is ominous and Magnus can’t quite shake the feeling of foreboding that washes over him.

Deciding not to worry about it any longer, Magnus returns his attention to his work. Going to his laptop, Magnus looks over his emails for a few minutes while Ragnor comes around the desk and reviews the fiscal notes.

His phone rings fifteen minutes before his meeting is set to start and Magnus debates answering before ultimately picking up the phone on the corner of his desk.

“Bane.”

“Magnus,” the person on the other end greets warmly. “Long time, no see. How have you been?”

Chuckling, Magnus relaxes against his chair as he ignores Ragnor’s impatient look. The man had a tragic habit of being dreadfully early to every meeting and Magnus refuses to show up a quarter of an hour early when he’s the damn boss.

“Isabelle, dear, I’m fit as a fiddle. I trust that you’re well?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she says, sounding distracted for a minute as papers rustle in the background. “I’m constantly inundated with new projects and reports but I’m managing.”

“And happy as a clam about it, I’m sure,” Magnus teases.

Isabelle was the chief scientist at Idris Labs, a private think tank in the city. Magnus had gone to her years ago when he was looking for a synthetic, hypoallergenic fabric to make a line of clothes from. They’d quickly hit it off and still remain friends who occasionally grab dinner together when their demanding schedules permit.

“Don’t you know it,” she laughs along. “There was actually a reason for my call, though.”

“I didn’t think this was a social call,” Magnus replies dryly. “What do you need, dear?”

“How would you feel about a commission? I know that you rarely take them these days but I have someone who needs a suit for a gala and I immediately thought of you.”

Humming, Magnus narrows his eyes in thought as he absently twirls a pen around his fingers. “They must have deep pockets if you’re coming to me and not Nordstrom’s Rack. Do I know them?”

Magnus hears Isabelle clear her throat before she says, “It’s actually for my brother and trust me when I say that he does alright for himself.”

Interest piqued, Magnus stills his hand as he asks, “What’s his name again? Jace? It’s been so long since we spoke last that I don’t quite remember.”

Isabelle laughs so hard that Magnus is concerned before she quiets down on the other end of the line. “Oh, hell no. Jace wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. I’m talking about my eldest brother, Alec. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him to you before.”

Straightening in his chair, Magnus has minor heart failure as he hoarsely asks, “ _Alec_? Alec Lightwood is your brother?”

Ragnor, who was just about to leave Magnus’s office, turns back with an arched brow. Magnus doesn’t pay him any mind as Isabelle responds.

“Yes?” Isabelle’s tone is confused as she continues, “I don’t see him very often but he's lands in New York tomorrow morning and apparently he has an awards ceremony next week that he desperately needs an outfit for. He said that he’d just go to Brooks Brothers but I persuaded him to wait until I made a call first.”

Magnus’s mind is whirling as he processes Isabelle’s words and he wants to kick himself for being such a dunce. It isn’t as though Lightwood was a popular surname. He’s known Isabelle for five years and he’s never put it together that the journalist he just so happened to have a _great_ deal of respect and admiration for was the brother to his favorite scientist.

“It’s a fifteen percent upcharge for a rush order,” he says on autopilot and immediately wants to kick himself again. For Alec Lightwood to wear one of his suits, Magnus would pay _him_.

He hears Isabelle laugh a little before she hopefully asks, “Does that mean you’ll do it? I know you’ve got to be busy with your company and getting designs submitted for next year’s fashion week but I figured that it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

“My dear Isabelle, getting your brother, the exceptionally well-known journalist, to wear one of my suits to an awards ceremony? That’s publicity I can’t buy. The man can wear clothes like no one I’ve ever seen before. I should be thanking you for this opportunity. Of course I’ll accept the commission.”

“Thank you, Magnus. I know that Alec does more than fine on his own but I’d love to see what you could do if you got your hands on him.”

At that Magnus can’t help but bark out a laugh. “You and me both, dear, I assure you. When is he free for the fitting?”

Magnus wheels his chair over to one end of his desk to look over his agenda.

“It’s Tuesday and we have a week until the dinner. As far as I know, Alec’s schedule is pretty much an open slate. What about something on Thursday?”

Scanning over the week’s appointments, Magnus sees an opening. “I don’t have anything that can’t be rescheduled Thursday morning. How does ten sound?”

“Sounds great,” Isabelle says excitedly. “I’m coming with him if that’s alright?”

“Of course, dear,” Magnus says distractedly as he pencils the consultation in. “I’ll draft something up later today and have a rough model ready when you arrive that morning.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Magnus, really. I saw the opportunity and I had to take it.”

“I’m sorry, Isabelle, what do you mean? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Magnus hears a flurry of movement on the other end as Isabelle presumably moves. “I don’t mean anything, Magnus. I just meant that I think both of you would benefit from knowing each other. You know, you sell a suit, Alec has a suit. It’s a win win.”

“Right,” Magnus says, suspicious. “Whatever the case, I really have to run off to a meeting now. I’ll see you Thursday, dear.”

“Bye, Magnus. See you then!”

Magnus hangs up, returning the phone to its cradle as he looks up and meets Ragnor’s interested gaze.

“Don’t,” he warns, seeing the gleam in his friend’s eyes.

“Whatever do you mean,” Ragnor sniffs. “I’m not doing anything except trying to make it to the meeting that’s been scheduled for six weeks.”

“Don’t read more into this than there is. I know that look. That’s the scheming Ragnor look. I always end up miserably hungover and in jail when that look crosses your face.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Ragnor replies drolly, though there is a subtle smirk on his mouth. 

Magnus starts toward the meeting room, nodding to Clary as they pass her desk. She’s just returning from lunch and without a hitch in her step, she drapes her coat over her chair as she answers the ringing phone.

“What are the chances that Lightwood would just so happen to need a suit from you?”

“Rather good, I’d say, considering that he often has commitments that require formal dress. Not to mention our apparently mutual acquaintance.”

“About that. Are you really telling me that you didn’t know?”

Irritated, Magnus pulls the door open so that Ragnor can enter first. Following him into the conference room, he says, “Do you really think that I wouldn’t have persuaded Isabelle to set up an introduction if I had?”

Ragnor sits down at one end of the table, Magnus taking the other. In between them are half a dozen accountants and other financial advisers from Ragnor’s department.

Opening his own file to the first page of the quarterly fiscal report, Ragnor just slides his glasses on, peering at Magnus from over the top.

“I think that I’m not coming into the office Thursday. I’d rather work from home than subject myself to being your confidante. I can only imagine what you’ll have to say after your meeting with your journalist.”

“He’s not my anything,” Magnus mutters and opens his own report to the beginning.

He hears Ragnor harrumph but neither one says anything further.

Ragnor starts in on the meeting and Magnus listens with half an ear as one of his underlings starts talking about projected versus actualized profits and expectations for the upcoming spring quarter.

He asks questions as they come to him and the meeting is two hours of Magnus reaffirming what he’d gathered from reading the report when he’d first received it a couple of weeks ago. 

His company is exceedingly healthy and Magnus lets Ragnor drone on about fabric cost affecting winter profits more than anticipated. All the while, he’s preoccupied.

It’s been awhile since he last did a personal consultation. While people regularly used his designs during award season, Magnus had mostly given those over to his protege, Raphael. He was too busy in running the company to focus on the minutiae.

There were a handful of designers that fell under his trademarked umbrella. Their designs-- with final approval from him-- were part of Bane Fashions. The last time Magnus had actually designed something for a client was a few years ago when the then First Lady had come to her for her husband’s second inauguration ball. 

Magnus has been so focused on next spring’s line and fixing the details that he hasn’t felt inspired lately. He’s started to wonder if he’s lost his inspiration-- and if so, how to get it back.

As he sits in his conference room though and overlooks the river, Magnus wonders if he hadn’t just need a challenge, an unexpected project.

Magnus’s mind is a whirl about color, cut, and fabric. He knows from watching Alec on the news that he favors a classic style, though he occasionally favors a signature touch.

Magnus wonders if he could get Alec into something other than a black tuxedo, debates and dismisses option after option and his fingers itch for his sketch pad.

The sun is setting by the time they reach the end of the report and Magnus asks his last question. The underlings scurry out of the room, throwing diffident nods in Magnus’s direction and before long it’s just Ragnor and Magnus in the room, watching the sky turn orange.

“Another day in the books,” Ragnor sighs, standing up and stretching. He scowls. “You were barely paying attention.”

Magnus looks up to see Ragnor looking mildly put upon. “I assure you, I paid very close attention to accounts receivable and how much my assets have increased since last year. We’re a well-oiled machine.”

He blows out a breath. “Thank Christ. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing such numbers. I’ve been in this business for fifteen years and I still can’t believe we’ve made it.”

“Well, believe it Magnus. Otherwise you wouldn’t get a chance to dress up golden boy.”

“Don’t I know it,” Magnus says absently before his gaze snaps to Ragnor’s.

“He’s not my golden boy. He’s just a reporter that I find attractive. That’s it, Cabbage. No more, no less. Who knows, he might be an asshole in person.”

“Maybe,” Ragnor says with a shrug as he gathers his papers. “That won’t necessarily stop you from flirting with him, though.”

Magnus waves that away with a sigh as he climbs to his own feet. “It would stop me from asking him out, that’s for damned sure.”

“Isn’t he going out with one of his coworkers? Lydia Branwell?”

It’s silent for a minute, Ragnor’s question hanging in the air.

“I don’t know,” Magnus mutters and decidedly does not look at his friend.

“They’re always being photographed together, you know.”

“They could just be friends,” Magnus says defensively.

“Have you ever heard that Lightwood’s strayed from the straight and narrow though,” Ragnor asks, emphasizing the former. “Don’t set yourself up for disappointment. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ve flirted with straight men before.”

“Yeah, but just when they’re homophobic assholes and you want to make them uncomfortable.”

“I’ve never heard that he’s explicitly straight so I’m choosing to keep my options open. You never know, Cabbage.”

“You can have a good idea, though,” Ragnor replies wryly and just shakes his head when Magnus sticks out his tongue.

“Go on, shoo. We’ve talked numbers but I need to finalize a few designs before I get ready for dinner.”

“Very well,” Ragnor says, “I’ll leave you to it but do try not to fall asleep in your office this time.”

“I make no promises,” Magnus says brightly and waves Ragnor toward the elevators as he goes back to his office.

Clary’s packing up for the day and they exchange a few minutes of pleasantries before he sends her on her way.

Left alone on the executive floor, Magnus sits in his chair. On one side, his view is Fifth Avenue and New York City. On the other, he overlooks water bathed in the pinks and oranges of the sunset.

His office is bigger than most apartments and his empire stretches across the world.

Magnus takes a moment to bask in his success as he’s wont to do at the end of a trying day.

He doesn’t waste long on the feeling, however, before he’s reaching for the sketch pad he keeps in one of his desk drawers.

Gathering it and his pencils, Magnus loses himself in drafting a suit for Alec. It’s a rough sketch and before he can finish it, he’s starting another one in the corner and another one until he has half a dozen possibilities on the page.

There’s classic and classic with a bold touch and outright bold and Magnus would kill to get the journalist in every outfit he’s created.

He decides to sample two, though, and Magnus swears as he looks up and sees the time. He’s running a little late but he takes the time to scan the two images and his accompanying notes. He guesses Alec’s approximate size and sends everything to the seamstress department so that they can build the suits for Thursday’s consult.

Magnus stands, running a hand through his hair before he starts toward the bathroom to get ready for his dinner.

Magnus hates investor dinners with everything he has but his company was hot right now and he needed to capitalize on that. The investors tonight had deep pockets and Magnus hopes that by the end of the evening, they’ll decide to share that wealth with him and his company’s future.

No doubt about it, Magnus thinks as he steps into his outrageously luxurious bathroom-- it was unsuitable for an office ensuite but since Magnus got ready here as much as he did his loft in Brooklyn, he’d decided to splurge.

Magnus has everything he’s ever wanted and it’s usually served on a silver platter these days. He has his business and his friends and more wealth than he can spend in his lifetime.

If he occasionally feels like something’s missing-- if there are some nights he spends tucked away in his office or roaming foreign cities while on business trips-- than it’s no one’s business but his own if he wonders if this is it, if this is what it feels like to be on top of the world.

Magnus has been at rock bottom and he’s reached his own personal mountain top and as he looks back, Magnus is pervaded by the sense that it’s unfinished. He’s checked everything off his list, has made goals and continues to reach for more.

He doesn’t know when he’ll be happy though, when he’ll be content with what he’s amassed.

Privately, Magnus has started to despair that he’ll ever feel like he’s made it, that he has everything he’s ever wanted.

He’s always reaching for more but the more he gets, the hollower he feels. Magnus doesn’t know what will fill the void but as he plays over Ragnor’s words from earlier in the afternoon, he wonders if his friend wasn’t right.

Maybe Magnus did need a hobby.

With a quiet laugh, Magnus turns off the water and wraps a towel around his hips.

 _Yeah_ , he scoffs to himself. He can’t wait to start a stamp collection.

 _I just need to get laid_ , Magnus thinks. A night-- or a weekend-- of distraction was sure to get him back on track. He just needed to blow off some steam and step away from his company for a minute before he could dive back in, refreshed.

Resolved, Magnus makes a mental note to tell Clary to clear his schedule this weekend. 

Magnus has made it this long with his eye on the prize and he doesn’t see that changing any time soon.

 _No way_ , he thinks as he chooses his cuff links-- onyx to go with his red and black jacket. 

Magnus doesn’t think there’s anyone out there who could ever become a bigger priority than his company and he decided a long time ago that he wouldn’t half-ass anything. He’s chosen his company time and time again. Even when it was hard, even when it was inconvenient.

Magnus shakes his head as he walks toward his floor length mirror. There’s no sense in talking about things that won’t happen. He’ll just focus on his company and maybe in six months, a year, he won’t feel like this.

He just needs a new project, something to focus all of his restless energy on. He’s grown a little stale, a little jaded. 

Nothing something new won’t fix, Magnus reflects.

If his thoughts stray to Alec and the design he’d chosen, then that’s no one’s business but his own.

He always did like a challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

Alec types copy on his laptop just as the overhead announcement comes on that they’ll be landing soon. He needs to get this piece to The Times by the end of the day and he’s always preferred writing during flights instead of anything else.

A journalist’s work is never done, not even when they’re thirty thousand feet in the air.

A flight attendant walks passed with a pointed look at his laptop, though she doesn’t say anything. Alec knows from experience that he has five minutes until she’ll be making another round and then he really will need to pack away his computer and prepare for landing.

Taking those five minutes, Alec finishes his draft by the seat of his pants, furiously typing his conclusion just as he sees the flight attendant enter his section of the plane. Hastily shutting his computer and sliding it into his bag, he relaxes back in his seat as he turns his head to look out the window.

He’s only been gone for a few weeks but every time he comes back to The States, something settles in him. It’s home, after all, and fuck knows that Alec is out of the country as often as he’s here.

The landing is unremarkable and thankfully, his is one of the first rows that exits the plane. Perks of being in first class, he thinks wryly, and stands whenever there’s room, reaching for his bag in the overhead compartment.

Hailing a cab doesn’t take more than a few minutes and Alec barely has to think about it before he’s rattling off the address to CNN’s office. While he’d love nothing more than going directly home and crashing for the next twelve hours, he needs to swing by headquarters and get caught up on what he’s missed since he was last in the city.

It takes a grueling forty five minutes to get there as they’re stuck in rush hour traffic and Alec climbs out of the cab thankful to escape, his bag in hand. He’s immediately hit with the sun’s warmth, a little brazen for so early in spring.

Readjusting the grip on his bag, Alec strides towards the glass doors of the building, nodding at the doorman who’s worked there since before Alec was even born.

He passes a few people who welcome him back and he ends up talking shop with a research assistant for almost twenty minutes before finally making it to the bank of elevators. He’s with a handful of people, most of whom look to be interns and he gives them an easy smile whenever they catch his eye with unsubtle once-overs.

They leave on the floor before his and as Alec strides out onto one of the office floors, he’s struck with homecoming. While he loves his unit in Midtown, he’s been part of CNN for almost five years now and this building is just as much home as anywhere else.

He doesn’t run into anyone in the hallway and as he enters his office, he sets his bag down on the coffee table he passes on his way to his desk.

Collapsing into the chair, Alec boots up his computer. The sun’s all but disappeared over the horizon by the time he surfaces, having gone through the emails he’d put off until he was back in New York. While he’d worked his ass off in Norway covering the president’s summit, things always seemed to pile up if he didn’t tend to them every hour.

His stomach rumbles but he’s only vaguely aware of it. He’s much more interested in finishing the opinion piece whose deadline is fast approaching. Thankfully, the flight had been productive as hell and he’d finished the content-- now it was just time to revise.

It’s a couple of hours before he’s satisfied with the article. It’s only about a thousand words concerning the potential ramifications of the meeting overseas and the effect the president’s behavior might have on foreign alliances and while it’s a good piece, that doesn’t mean that Alec isn’t annoyed as he reads over it. 

Goddamn but he missed the previous administration.

Hitting send on the email to the EIC at the New York Times, Alec stretches, cracking his neck and muttering a curse at the tension he feels bleeding into his shoulders.

Standing with a groan, Alec leaves his office, heading to the mailroom. There’s a bundle waiting for him along with a handful of ARCs that he’s been sent. He regularly receives manuscripts so that he can review them-- a line from him on the cover of a book is well sought-after, though Alec will never understand why everyone cares so damn much about his own opinion on someone else's work.

Hands full, Alec drops the shit off back at his office before taking the elevator up a few floors to the newsroom. Looking at his watch, he sees that he can catch the ten o’clock news hour and so he slips into the area, watching the night news co-hosts catch the country up on what’s new.

Lydia and Underhill are an unexpected team. They work well together, sharing little jokes that somehow make the viewer feel included. They’re two of TV’s top news personalities and thankfully, they’re also good people when they’re not in front of a camera.

Alec watches quietly, a spot of stillness behind the scenes while everyone else is working to keep things running smoothly. He ends up watching the entire hour. Jet lag is quickly catching up to him and there’s something in the familiar routine of it all that has Alec half-asleep on his feet.

He comes to attention, however, as he hears his name.

“Luckily for us, it looks like Alec Lightwood just landed today. Hopefully, he’ll be making a few guest appearances as our political analyst before he’s off to the next headline.”

Lydia chuckles as she briefly looks away from the camera, meeting Alec’s eyes with laughter in her own. “Who knows, Steve, maybe we’ll even get him to co-host the news with us sometime soon. Goodness knows our ratings always increase when he’s on air.”

Chuckling a little, Alec just shakes his head while glaring half-assed at the two of them.

They wrap up a moment later and as they push away from the table, Alec comes over to their desk.

Smiling at them both, Alec just says, “Really?”

“We couldn’t resist,” is all Underhill says back, laughing as he they shake hands.

“Yeah,” Lydia agrees. “Plus, it’s the truth. Every time your face graces our camera, we gets a ratings boost. Everyone wants their news delivered by someone who looks like he’d much rather be writing his memoir on a Parisian sidewalk than galavanting all over the world reporting on Asshole McGee, etc.”

“Whatever puts bread on the table,” Alec replies easily, even as he grimaces. While he knew covering the president was important and an honor, this particular president made that honor dubious at best and a punishment from hell on some days.

“So, what brings you here, Lightwood? I figured you’d be holed up in your apartment sleeping off your assignment.”

Alec shrugs. “I wanted to come in and catch up on work. Plus, I was on deadline for something.”

“Ah deadline,” Lydia and Underhill say at the same time. They all know how that goes.

“It’s almost midnight,” Lydia admonishes, standing and gathering up her paper. “Go home, Alec.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way out now. I just wanted to see how you two were doing and catch a few segments from New York’s best.”

Scoffing, Underhill follows the two of them toward the elevator. “Flattery will get you everywhere but I won’t forget that you owe me fifty bucks.”

Alec barks out a laugh as he pushes the button for the office floor. “You’re really going to hold me to that?”

“You bet your ass, Lightwood. You bet me fifty dollars that I wouldn’t make a move on Declan before the month was out and we just had our second date last night.”

Reaching for his wallet, Alec grumbles good naturedly. “Good to know that all it took was money for you to finally get up the courage to ask the PA out. You’ve only been pining from afar for a decade.”

Underhill rolls his eyes. “He’s only been with us eight months. To a tortoise, that’s a blink of an eye.”

Lydia laughs as she leans against the wall. “I lost that bet, too,” she says ruefully. “I thought it would take _another_ eight months for you to even ask him for coffee sometime.”

Underhill just grins smugly at them both and when the elevator doors open a second later, he strides out ahead of Lydia and Alec, throwing out a _goodnight_ over his shoulder.

Lydia doesn’t say anything as she follows Alec to his office. He’d left the lights on and from his vantage point, he sees the New York skyline through his windows.

He loves this city and on the thirtieth floor, the lights make everything seem like a picture, the epitome of New York elegance.

Going over to his computer, Alec skims through the half dozen emails that have accumulated in his inbox in the couple of hours he was aware and decides that everything can wait until tomorrow.

Lydia shuts the door behind her and Alec ignores it in favor of turning his computer off, reaching for his phone and checking his notifications, frowning a little as he sees a missed call from his sister.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he replies distractedly. “Izzy just called a few hours ago.”

“Maybe you should call her back,” lydia offers innocuously and Alec looks up as he locks his phone and shoves it in his pocket.

“I will when I get home.”

Rounding his desk, Alec walks toward his sitting area. It was nothing unduly fancy, just a few chairs with a long sofa behind a glass topped coffee table. It was hideously modern-- too clean for Alec’s taste-- but it was what everyone expected him to favor and he was too busy most days to remember that the couches were uncomfortable and that glass showed dust much too easily with his travel schedule.

“Alec.”

Alec pauses from where he’d been reaching for his bag, hand hanging mid air for a moment before it drops to his side.

“What.” His voice is curt, a little cool, but Alec can’t bring himself to care. He’d known when Lydia started following him what she’d wanted to discuss and just the thought of broaching this particular topic makes his teeth grind.

It’s part frustration, part anger, part a dozen other emotions that he does his best to shove down every minute of every day.

Settling into one corner of the couch, Lydia shifts a little, crossing one leg over another in a move that Alec recognizes as her power position. Lydia’s serious and she’s trying to project a calm, capable image.

“We can’t keep doing this. _I_ can’t keep doing this.”

Alec doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he sighs before running a hand through his hair. Going over to the drink cart he’d installed a few years ago, Alec turns over two tumblers and pours a splash of whiskey in each of them.

Turning back to Lydia, he hands one over on his way to a chair that sits facing one of his oldest friends.

He sits down and feels the weight he seems to constantly carry shift. It’s a blanket that grows just a bit more oppressive each day and Alec doesn’t have the time or wherewithal to do much about it except let the bitterness grow until it lingers, until it coats his throat in a layer that feels as suffocating as oil.

They stare at each other for a beat before Lydia’s the one who’s sighing and taking a sip of her drink. She hums a little, turning the glass over in her hands, preoccupied. Alec lets her have the silence, even as it stretches his nerves taut.

Finally, Lydia looks up again. She’s wearing a smile that’s apologetic but Alec sees the happiness lurking underneath.

“I met someone,” Lydia says, breaking the quiet that’s draped the room. “His name is John and I think there’s really something there.”

“That’s great, Lydia.” Alec doesn’t have to pretend to be happy for Lydia-- his friend deserves all the happiness in the world and it’s wonderful to watch as she flushes, to see the way she looks so over the moon barely mentioning the man.

“Yeah, I’m really happy.” Lydia’s voice quiets a little, smile dimming as she studies Alec. “I want to take things public, though. I don’t want to hide my relationship and Christ, I really don’t want people coming out of the woodwork to accuse me of cheating. I can just imagine those headlines-- and the slant that would make you the sympathetic cuckold and me the bitchy villain.”

Alec waves that away. “Of course. We both knew this would end some day. I can’t wait to meet the guy who makes you look like _that.”_

“Like what,” Lydia asks, glaring as if she already knows what Alec’s going to say. With the longevity of their friendship, she probably does.

“Like you’re a cow-eyed teenager waxing poetic about Nick Carter.”

“Well,” Lydia says primly. “He was the hottest Backstreet Boy.”

Sighing, Alec agrees. “Tell me about it.”

There’s a beat of quiet before Lydia’s uncrossing her legs, leaning over the coffee table and laying a hand on Alec’s knee.

“Are you really okay,” she asks, eyes probing.

“Of course,” Alec says softly. “How couldn’t I be when my oldest friend is head over heels for some guy?”

Lydia doesn’t say anything right away, instead squinting at Alec in a move that’s horribly familiar. Finally though, she settles back in her seat and drains the rest of her glass.

“It’s okay if you’re not, you know. We’ve been doing this so long that it almost seems sacrilege to call things off now.”

Laughing a little, Alec nods. “It’s been a convenient arrangement.”

“I don’t have to worry about any assholes coming onto me when everyone knows we’re dating and you get to keep your secret-- or at least have plausible deniability.”

“Win-win,” Alec agrees. “And let’s not forget that it was handy having a date to all those boring ass events. It’s hard as hell attending dinners and shows and whatever the fuck else we need to with company that doesn’t make one want to gouge their eyes out with the soup spoon.”

“Who knows? Maybe this is the jump start you need to find someone on your own.”

“I’m sure,” Alec says sardonically, “That while you go off on your domestic way, I’ll become a confirmed bachelor.”

Lydia frowns as though she’s upset. “Don’t act like that, Alec.”

Alec just raises a brow, sending her an arch look. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” Lydia exclaims, exasperated. Alec’s eyes widen at the outburst. “Don’t deflect,” she demands, pointing an accusatory finger in his directions.

“You always do this. You’re thirty two, Alec, and I hate the thought of you waking up one day steeped in regret and loneliness.”

“Where are you planning on going,” he says mechanically. He winces before the words have even left his mouth, waving off Lydia’s impending tirade.

“Ignore that. So you want me to-- what? Just because you’ve found someone, that means I need to throw my career away for the first man who looks in my direction?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. Don’t twist my words.”

Alec’s voice is cool as he replies, “No, I think that’s exactly what you’re suggesting. We’ve been over this a hundred times, Lydia. Our arrangement worked perfectly because both of us were too focused on our careers to mess with dating. However, you appear to have met someone and while I’m thrilled for you, both of us know that’s just not in the cards for me.”

“It’s 2019, Alec. Surely you don’t think everything would come crashing down if you came out.”

“Maybe not,” Alec allows. “I don’t think CNN would cast me out on the streets. I don’t think I’d become a destitute has-been. I could still work in this field. But we both know that the career I’ve pursued for the past decade necessitates that I travel a good part of the year. I’m out of New York as often as I’m here and a lot of the time I’m going on dangerous assignments where my journalist credentials are the only thing standing between me and death or imprisonment.

“If it got out I was gay? I’d be lucky to go out in the field anymore and I’d be even luckier if I wasn’t thrown in jail-- or worse-- the minute I landed in some of those countries. That’s the reality, Lydia. I’d be relegated to a desk job, writing about the news instead of living it. I need to be on the front lines. I’m not willing to sacrifice my career just for the possibility that I might meet a man someday who I want to settle down with. Actually, I think it’s brazen and a little unrealistic that there’s even someone like that out there for me.”

“That’s what I thought too, you know. But John is wonderful and while I don’t have to choose between him and my career, he means a lot. I just want you to find someone one day who will make you feel like that, too. Like they're the most important person in the world.”

“I have my work and that’s enough motivation for me, don’t worry.” Alec’s voice is brisk as he smiles encouragingly.

“Whatever you say, Alec. I just don’t want you to focus so much on your career that you forget that there are other things worth living for. The job isn’t everything, no matter how much you love it or how prestigious it becomes.”

“Wise words from a fellow workaholic,” Alec notes with a sardonic look, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Lydia just shrugs. “Maybe I’m just speaking from personal experience, then. I didn’t know until I met someone.”

“Never say never. Got it,” Alec replies and the two of them laugh before Lydia sighs and stands up, laying her glass on the coffee table with a light thud.

“Speak of the devil, I have plans with my boyfriend tonight. I should get going.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Alec remarks. “What could your plans possibly be,” he asks with a raised brow.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she chastises. “He’s a doctor and just got off shift. We’re meeting for dinner a few blocks from the hospital.”

Standing as well, Alec swallows the last of his whiskey, wincing. “Enjoy your date, then, and I guess I’ll see you soon enough-- though not in public it seems."

“Not for awhile,” Lydia agrees. “No one needs rumours of that. We had a good run, Alec, but I’m dumping you.”

Alec throws back his head, letting his laughter ring throughout the room. He wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “And here I thought we were going to go the distance. Just leave me and my broken heart to wallow.”

Lydia laughs softly as she takes a step toward him. Wrapping her arms around his middle, Lydia’s voice is muffled as she says, “Thanks for being so understanding. I would’ve hated it if this would’ve come between us.”

Returning the hug, Alec tightens his arms a little as he lets his chin rest on top of Lydia’s chin. “Nah,” he says easily. “We’ve been friends too long for anything to affect us. So, you’re falling for someone. It was bound to happen sometime and I’m not enough of a bastard to want anything to stand in the way of you and your happiness.”

“You’re a good friend, Alec.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, standing back. “Don’t let it get around that I’m not actually an asshole. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Whatever,” Lydia replies. “You’re a giant softie and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Alec gasps dramatically, raising a hand to his chest in dismay. “Whatever do you mean.”

Poking him in the shoulder, his friend just offers, “People might think you’re a little cold around the edges, but everyone knows you’re a good guy deep down. The sheer amount of charity work you do speaks to that, no matter the fan accounts of running into you all over the city.”

“Lies,” Alec says, dismissive. “Lies and hearsay.”

Lydia snorts. “You’re such a dork.”

Alec grins waving Lydia off as she heads toward the door. “You know you love it.”

He hears her mutter, “God knows why,” underneath her breath before she’s striding toward her own office to call it a day.

Left alone, Alec’s office feels unnaturally quiet after the last half hour. He stands for a minute, unmoving before shaking his head and grabbing his shit.

He throws his jacket on and sweeps up his bag. Making sure that he isn’t leaving anything he’ll need until tomorrow, Alec shuts the lights off and locks his office.

At this hour, there’s just a skeleton crew in the building and Alec nods to a few people he recognizes as he makes his way downstairs.

The cab ride to his apartment is uneventful and now that things have calmed down a little, he feels exhaustion riding him hard. Unfortunately, he’s just crossed the threshold of his bedroom when he remembers that Izzy called him earlier in the evening.

With a groan, Alec takes the time to shower and change into fresh clothes before he plucks his phone from his discarded jeans and dials a number he knows from heart. Thankfully, his sister is a night owl and the phone has just started it’s second ring when he hears it pick up.

“Good evening, hermano. How are you?”

“Hey, Iz,” Alec greets warmly. “I’m doing okay, just got back to my place actually. How about you?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” she returns. “Work is fun as always even if it makes me want to tear my hair out on a regular basis. I’m sure I’ll have my first gray hair before I’m thirty at this rate.”

“But you can’t even fathom doing anything else,” Alec says knowingly.

“You’re right, of course,” Izzy sighs. “Even if I’ve taken on more of an administrative role, I still love working in the lab whenever I get the chance. But, that’s not why I’m calling.”

“No,” Alec says, tone insouciant even over the phone. “I didn’t think you’d call me just to wax rhapsodic about science. You usually keep those calls to the daytime.”

“Whatever,” his sister laughs and the sound makes something settle in Alec as he wanders out of his bedroom toward the foyer where he’d dropped his mail off earlier. He didn’t see Isabelle as often as he might like even if they did meet up at least once a week when he was in town. It was nice to talk to her, even if she was talking about things Alec didn’t really have an interest in. It was important to Izzy and that meant Alec would-- and definitely had-- listen to her talk about chemistry and whatever the shit until she was blue in the face.

“Do you have plans for tomorrow? Specifically the morning.”

“Uh, no. Not that I can think of.” Alec thinks over his schedule and while he knew that he’d be in New York for a couple of weeks at least, there was nothing pressing for the foreseeable future. Honestly, tomorrow he’d just figured that he’d have a rest day, catching up on his sleep and the latest season of a Netflix Original that he hadn’t seen yet.

“Well, you do now. We’re getting you a suit for that thing you have next week.”

Flipping through bills, bills, and a packet of coupons to Burger King, Alec just raises a brow at the stack of mail in his hand. “Oh we are, are we? Since when?”

He can almost hear Isabelle roll her eyes on the other end of the line. “Since you told me that you had that press dinner at the end of the month and you were planning on going to Brooks Brothers for an outfit.”

“I also mentioned Armani,” Alec says absently. “They’re usually my go to for important events.”

“Armani, shmarmani,” Isabelle says impatiently. “I got us a consult with a different designer.”

Intrigued Alec merely prompts, “Oh?”

“He’s only the biggest name in fashion and I’m sure he can take you from your steady eight into the twelve range _at least_.”

“Hey,” Alec protests mildly. “I feel like I should be insulted by that.”

“Don’t be,” Izzy says dryly. “I’m a ten and even if you do clean up well, you’re no match for me.”

Alec huffs out a laugh. “If you say so, then.”

“Anyway,” she continues lightly. “I called him up and he agreed to meet with you tomorrow at ten. So bad news if you were planning on sleeping in but I wanted to make sure that he had enough time to make your suit.”

“You’ve got me on tenterhooks. Who is this designer I’m meeting?”

“Magnus Bane,” Izzy says excitedly, like she just announced that the Prince of Sheba was going to be outfitting him.

“Who,” Alec asks, squinting into nothing as he tries to put a face to the name.

“Really, Alec?” Isabelle’s voice is exasperated, though Alec really thinks that she has no one to blame but herself if she expected Alec to have a Rolodex of designers in his head. He knew half a dozen and most of them were because they’d met. Alec knew what he liked and once he found a designer that could cater his image, he rarely strayed.

“Yes, Isabelle. Really. You know that I mainly stick to Armani or Gucci whenever I need something more formal. Who’s this Magnus Bane?”

“Only the most talented designer of our generation, hermano. He’s the youngest designer on Forbes Fortune 500 and a true visionary. He’s phenomenally talented. His runways are always exclusive as hell and people have been known to bribe other attendees to put in a good word with him so that they can receive an invitation.”

“And does that work?”

“Not really,” Isabelle admits. “Magnus is pretty strict on who he wants at his shows. He usually thinks flattery is meaningless.”

“Good for him then,” Alec says, his estimation of this Magnus raising a level or two.

“Yeah, he’s a really good guy. Very down to earth even if he does own one of the top fashion empires in the world. I’ve worked with him a few times and we’ve become friends over the years.” She takes a breath. “All of that to say that he’s been kind enough to squeeze us into his _very_ busy schedule.”

“Why go to all the trouble? I’m perfectly fine with what I have.”

“I’m sure you are,” his sister retorts breezily. “You’re stuck in a rut, though. I think you two could be good for each other.”

Padding his way into the kitchen, Alec reaches for a glass in the cupboard before filling it with water. “What do you mean? Even if I like his design, it’s a business transaction, nothing more. I hardly think I’ll talk to Bane after I get the suit.”

“You never know,” is all Isabelle says and while her tone is cryptic as fuck, Alec just attributes it to her usual behaviour.

“Well, what time is this meeting?”

“Ten o’clock sharp.”

“Great,” he mutters. “It’s not like I haven’t slept in thirty hours or anything.”

“Great,” Izzy echoes, tone much brighter.

“Whatever you’re planning, get it out of your head,” Alec mutters.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever.” Looking at the clock, he curses as he sees it's officially after midnight. He's still running on Norway time, though, and it's early morning for him. 

He's so tired his eyes burn. _Jesus Christ_ , he thinks. 

“Text me the address and I’ll meet you there in the morning. Anything else I should know?”

He hears Izzy hum over the line before she says, “No, that’s about it. Try not to look like you rolled out of bed if at all possible and be on time. Magnus hates when people are late.”

“Lucky we have that in common, then.”

“I’ll see you in the morning. If you don’t have anything after, we could get lunch?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alec confirms. “Bye, Iz.”

“Bye, Alec.”

With that, he hangs up and drains the glass of water he’d been staring at for the past five minutes.

He all but collapses into bed. He’s almost asleep before he remembers that he needs to set an alarm and the brightness of his phone sears his retinas in the dark room. He’s sleepy and cranky for it. He needs to pass out for eight hours and has high hopes that will make him feel like a human again.

It’s like the past week has caught up with him in a rush and Alec feels like jello as he sinks into the bed. A thought keeps niggling at him, though.

With a sigh, he shifts onto his side, pulling his pillow closer until he’s half-hugging it. He’s been dating Lydia for years now. She’d been his cover since they’d graduated college and she’s been a close friend since middle school. 

When they’d first been starting out, neither of them had wanted to take their eye off the prize. So, they’d made a pact to be each other’s plus ones. They were already close enough that most people who didn’t know them thought they were dating. It was nothing to ask Lydia to be his date to a dinner or accompany him to a charity gala. He's done the same for her on dozens of occasions. It was a system that worked for them.

They let other people draw their own conclusions. It suited their purposes.

Especially his.

While Alec might have discreet affairs, everything is always kept hushed. Like he’d told Lydia tonight, he’s not willing to let anything come between him and his career. He likes travelling and he’s worked damned hard to gain the clearance and clout that he’s accumulated.

It might bust his balls that he can’t be open, that he has to have plausible deniability and shut down any rumours that he might not be straight swiftly and uncategorically, but it’s his life and he long ago accepted that some things could never be meant for him.

More’s the pity.

As his breathing grows deep and his thoughts become hazy, Alec’s secure in the knowledge that he’s doing what’s best. He can’t imagine a man ever meaning as much as his career-- let alone more, what the fuck-- and he’s content with the life he’s built.

He’s one of the most famous journalists in the world and everything’s looking up with no sign of stopping.

And with that, he switches gears.

His last thought before he drifts off is about this Magnus Bane. Alec may never have heard of him but if Izzy’s singing his praises then he must be good. He only hopes that Bane will listen to him and not try to thrust his style onto Alec.

He’s humoring this designer for Izzy and because he figures why the hell not. However, he wants someone who will listen to him, who won’t just take his measurements and do whatever the hell he wants.

Alec supposes everything will shake out in the morning and with that he falls asleep, ending another day that’s like any other.


	3. Chapter 3

Magnus walks into the office at 7am sharp. He’s carrying a latte from the coffee shop around the corner and as he takes a sip, he grimaces a little at the bitter taste.

He’s running on three hours of sleep, having stayed up far too late working on the finishing touches of Alec’s suit. It’s been a while since Magnus has worked around the clock for a piece and it’s strangely invigorating even if he does want to collapse on his couch and sleep the morning away.

Nodding to a few of his employees, Magnus manages to make it up to his office without talking to anyone. Really, only a few departments were up and running this early. Magnus might demand a lot from his staff but he wasn’t unreasonable. 

He kept unreasonable expectations to himself.

Clary’s not due for a couple of hours so Magnus has the floor to himself. Walking into his office, Magnus sees the two mannequins displaying Alec’s sample jackets near his desk. In the bright morning light, Magnus takes another drink from his cup as he studies them.

“Still got it,” he murmurs to himself, eyes raking over the fabric looking for anything out of place, pushing a loose pin back into position. 

He has no idea what Alec will think of the suits. Really, while Magnus might have the _tiniest_ crush on the reporter, the man’s an enigma. In his early thirties, Alec Lightwood was by all rights a man on a mission.

Magnus could relate even if he wondered just how much the old adage rang true.

 _All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy_.

Alec seemed constantly in motion, flying off to far flung countries and racking up awards and accolades. It was undeniably attractive, all that accomplishment and drive. Magnus has always loved someone who knows what they want and Alec certainly fit the bill there.

With a sigh, Magnus turns and makes his way to his desk, sitting down and setting his cup to one side while he boots up his computer. While Alec was sure to be the most exciting part of his day, Magnus’s world couldn’t stop for a consultation.

He spends the next few hours losing himself in work. He skims the day’s headlines and gets caught up on his email-- at least as much as he ever is.

It feels like for every reply he sends, two more messages pop up in his inbox in a never ending deluge of correspondence.

He looks over the daily media report his publicist emails at the start of the day, seeing how the Bane brand is faring in the media. Thankfully, all mentions look positive with an editorial piece in Tokyo Vogue speculating about his winter line. Magnus raises a wry brow as some of their theories are remarkably close to his actual portfolio while others are so off the mark as to be laughable.

Taking a short break, Magnus thinks for a quick second before taking his phone out and positioning the mannequins in their most advantageous light. Taking a few pictures, he chooses one before posting it to his Instagram with the caption, _Special commission for a client. I wonder who?_

Immediately locking his phone again, Magnus looks up at the knock on his door, smiling as Clary pops her head in.

“Good morning, Biscuit,” he greet warmly. “What do you need?”

Walking into his office without a word, Clary only takes enough steps until she can close the door behind her, leaning against it as she looks up at the ceiling without saying a word.

“What is it?” Magnus’s voice is bemused as he takes in his assistant of three years. Clary’s a consummate professional even if she has a propensity to be a little dramatic.

With a sigh, Clary straightens and holds the folder to her middle. If Magnus’s isn’t mistaken, there’s a blush sweeping over her cheeks. He’s just about to ask what on earth just happened when she speaks up.

“You’re ten o’clock is here. Alec and Isabelle Lightwood.”

Looking up at the clock, Magnus is a little taken aback to see just how much time has passed while he was working. It’s ten on the dot and Magnus gives the Lightwood siblings points for punctuality.

“What’s got you so flustered?”

Glaring, Clary manages to hiss, “You didn’t tell me that Isabelle was stunning,” in a stage whisper that has Magnus barking out a laugh as he walks over to the mannequins.

“Now that you mention it,” he muses. “She is your type.”

Fanning herself with the folder, Clary straightens back into her professional stance. “Should I send them in?”

Smoothing down a lapel, Magnus gestures absently with a hand. “Of course, dear.”

He barely hears the door open again, focused on last minute adjustments in a move that is _not_ an effort to quell his nerves.

Magnus Bane doesn’t get nervous and certainly not over a client.

He ignores the voice in his head calling him a big goddamn liar and turns around as he hears steps approaching. Face set into a welcoming smile, every thought in Magnus head disappears for a beat, then two, then _three_.

Alexander Lightwood can wear a pair of Levis like no one Magnus has ever seen before, making a perfectly plain sweater-- which Magnus has a sneaking suspicion is Valentino-- look couture.

He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning and it gives him a deliciously rugged air. Distantly Magnus wonders if he’s drooling before he shakes his head imperceptibly and pulls his shit together.

If he didn’t know better, Magnus would swear that Alec was similarly affected. Holding out a hand, Magnus says, “Magnus Bane. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

To his utter delight, Alec smiles and it looks easy, open. Magnus might have expected a certain coolness but right now, Alec looks approachable and friendly.

“Alec.”

Magnus thinks he hears Isabelle mutter underneath her breath but he can’t quite place the words. It’s no matter, though, because in the next instant Alec is sliding his hand into Magnus’s. 

His palm is warm, inviting, and as the two of them shake hands, it feels like they're in their own little world-- at least to Magnus.

Alec, for his part, looks completely unaffected as his smile cools. The handshake is completely perfunctory before Alec drops his hand and turns toward his sister.

“You already know Izzy,” he says with a nod in her direction and Magnus almost gets whiplash from the change in attitude, the earlier friendliness turning almost icy.

Magnus has worked with jerks before and while it chaps his ass, Magnus doesn’t let his expression shift as he turns toward his friend.

“Of course. Isabelle,” he greets, smile deepening, and leans close to kiss her cheek.

She reciprocates, resting her hands on his shoulders, before pulling back. Back to Alec, Magnus only sees Isabelle as she rolls her eyes in her brother’s direction.

“Magnus. Thank you so much for doing this. We know you’re a _busy_ man who did this as _a favor to a friend_.”

The tilt of Magnus’s mouth turns wry as Isabelle speaks through clenched teeth and as he takes a step back, Magnus’s gaze flicks over to Alec who looks like he’s chewing glass as he says, “Thank you, Magnus. Next week’s dinner is important and my sister’s been raving about you since she told me about our appointment.”

Slightly mollified, Magnus just offers, “Good to know my reputation precedes me,” and turns with a extravagant hand towards the two mannequins.

“Why don’t we get down to business,” he says briskly and starts with the classic suit jacket. “I’ve created two sample suits. As you can see, I went with classic for this first piece. All black wool with silk lapels and finishing details.”

Moving toward a hidden closet, Magnus opens the door and takes out the hanger with the rest of the ensemble. Handing them over to Alec, who takes them without hesitation, Magnus continues, “Go ahead and try this on and we’ll see how it fits.”

He winks. “We’ll see just how close to your measurements I could come to with just pictures as reference.”

Clearing his throat, Alec nods and turns towards Magnus’s ensuite bathroom and closes the door without a word.

Left alone with Isabelle, he looks over as she sighs heavily.

“He’s such a dunce,” he hears before she’s smiling apologetically. “Sorry about him. I’d blame it on the jet lag but unfortunately my brother isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

Magnus waves that away. “He’s not the first less-than-pleasant client I’ve had, dear, and he won’t be the last. While I’m disappointed, of course, that he doesn’t have the same sunny disposition as you, I have to admit that I’m looking forward to seeing him fill out my clothes.”

“Alec might prefer to wear simple clothes but he definitely has his own sense of style,” Isabelle agrees. “He does get a little set in his ways, though.”

“Don’t say that Alec didn’t want to come this morning,” Magnus says sardonically.

Grimacing, Izzy just replies, “He wasn’t an ass about it but once my brother finds something-- someone-- he likes, it takes some persuading to steer him in a different direction. He has the disappointing and extremely frustrating habit of landing himself in ruts.”

Magnus can’t help himself from coming to his defense, suggesting, “He is a busy man. I can’t imagine that he has all the time in the world to explore when he’s always off on assignment.”

Isabelle huffs but before she can say anything, the bathroom door is open.

 _Goddamn_.

Magnus keeps his neutral expression, though it takes more effort than he’d like to admit. He’d gotten damned close to Alec’s measurements and as he runs a critical eye over the suit, cataloging the dozen places that need altering, Magnus gives himself a little pat on the back for another job well done.

Gesturing sharply for Alec to approach the tri-fold mirror in the corner of his office, Magnus swings by his desk to pick up his pin cushion and tape measure before joining Isabelle and her brother.

If his eyes happen to drop to a truly magnificent ass, Magnus assures himself that no one’s the wiser.

Coming around to stand in front of Alec, Magnus smooths the shoulders of the suit.

“This needs let out three quarters of an inch,” Magnus mutters under his breath, noting the tightness as the fabric stretches over an impressive set of shoulders.

Alec stands still as Magnus repins the area. Magnus doesn’t pay him much mind as he circles around, making other minute alterations. Tugging down the back of the jacket, Magnus admires the flare that accentuates slim hips before coming back around and shifting to the shirt.

Looking up, Magnus meets Alec’s eyes, his own dancing just a little as he reaches toward the collar.

“Now, I don’t know the dress code for this event but I’ve tailored the shirt and jacket so that it’s suitable for both a bow tie or open throat.” So saying, Magnus unbuttons the top two buttons, fingers just gliding over the warm skin of Alec’s neck.

While his expression doesn’t change, only half of Magnus’s mind is on which style fits best, waiting for Alec to give him some feedback.

Most of his thoughts are caught on the ripple of Alec’s throat as he swallows hard, mouth opening on an almost silent gasp that only the two of them hear. Their eyes collide and Magnus wishes desperately that this was a sign. It’s a moment suspended in time-- Magnus’s fingers still along the collar of the shirt, spreading it wider to show a larger swathe of tan skin.

No one says anything and Magnus can’t even begin to string a sentence together as he wonders what the hell the man in front of him is doing to his usually iron-clad professionalism. Before he can do anything though, Alec’s clearing his throat. It jars them from the spell that seems to have been cast over their tableau and while Magnus doesn’t startle, he does blink, the breath shuddering out of him as Alec’s tongue darts out to drag over a full bottom lip.

“Actually,” Alec says slowly, looking at Magnus as though for permission, “The gala is black tie only. No open throats allowed.”

“Of course,” Magnus replies mechanically. On autopilot he buttons the shirt back up and takes a step back, regaining some equilibrium with the move.

Turning his back for a brief moment, Magnus walks over to his desk, grabbing the slim box from the corner of his desk. He lifts the top as he returns to Alec, holding it out for both he and Isabelle to look over.

“I thought you might say that,” Magnus says with a small smile, nodding towards the black silk bow tie resting in white satin. “I had the design team bring this up just in case you opted for the more formal choice.”

Isabelle reaches for the piece of fabric, but Alec beats her to it, lightly slapping her hand away. “I can tie my own bow tie,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes as only a big brother can before taking a step or two closer to the mirror for a better look.

Magnus watches the display with a smile. His eyes catch on the graceful, if utilitarian, movements of Alec’s hands as he expertly ties a perfect bow. Leaning closer to the mirror, Alec’s thumb runs under the wing tip collar of the oxford shirt, smoothing the black silk, and Magnus’s mouth goes dry.

 _Get a grip_ , he tells himself and brightens when Alec’s eyes catch his in the mirror, as if asking for a second opinion.

Gesturing for Alec to step back, Magnus runs a critical eye of the outfit. He reaches for Alec’s arms, pulling them straight in front of him, gauging the length.

“It’s a little tight,” Alec admits, subtly flexing his arms.

Magnus’s reply is absent as he says, “The sleeves are too short. I’ll send down to the store for the next size and tailor it to the measurements I’ll take in a few minutes.” Shooting the cuffs, Magnus looks up with a frown. “Do you have cuff links or do you need a pair? I have a few on hand to get the general effect but I can refer you to a few jewelers if that’s more your speed.”

“I have cuff links at home. I didn’t think to bring them,” Alec admits sheepishly.

Magnus waves that away.

“I should have told Isabelle. No matter, like I said, I have some that will give us the effect we need and see what adjustments might need to be made.”

Grabbing the a notebook on a side table, Magnus reaches for the pencil tucked behind his ear, pulling his tape measure from around his neck. He spends the next several minutes readjusting pins and getting real measurements, wanting to make sure that this Bane Original especially fit like a dream.

Taking a step back, Magnus studies the new silhouette before his gaze snags on the pants. Tossing his notebook to the side, Magnus kneels and reaches for the hem of Alec’s pants, tugging them down over sock-clad feet.

He smiles, just a little, at the mini ducklings that make an otherwise plain black sock _fun_.

“What do you think of the silk stripe down the side? Too much?” Magnus glares at the pant leg, debating on the length when he looks up to see Alec already studying him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Alec says and Magnus leaves it at that. He can’t help clients who won’t say what’s on their mind.

Deciding the length works-- surprising since Alexander’s exceptionally tall-- Magnus stands back up, dusting his hands off in the process.

“Well, how does it look,” Magnus asks, stepping back and gesturing for Alec to spin.

Alec does so, looking down at himself in the suit. “I like it,” he says, sounding surprised. Shrugging a little, he looks up at Magnus as he completes his revolution. “I like it a lot.”

Magnus smiles, leaning down to grab his sketchbook from where it’d landed on the floor. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says lightly. He tilts his head toward the second mannequin. “Do you want to try on the second suit? I know it’s flashier, a little bolder, but I looked through press pictures from past formal events and sometimes you like something with a little edge.”

Alec bites his lip, thinking, as he glances over to the other side of the room. He smiles faintly. “Purple, though,” he asks, eyes laughing as he looks more than a little taken aback.

Magnus’s reply is prim as he merely offers, “Aubergine, Alexander. It’s all about the shade.”

“Oh, of course,” Alec agrees easily, laughing. “That makes all the difference.”

“Magenta is different from violet is different from lavender.”

Nodding, Alec grins and Magnus notes the faint laugh lines just starting to form at the corner of his eyes. “You’re right," he says gravely. “My mistake.”

“As long as you’re aware,” Magnus murmurs, taking a step back.

“Can I offer either of you something to drink? Eat?” He winces. “I’ve been a terrible host and businessman. Forgive me.”

Alec waves that away almost before he’s done talking. “I’m good. Iz?”

Smiling, Isabelle asks for water which Magnus goes to the intercom to order from Clary. She knocks on the door to the office before poking her head in. Walking into the office, Clary holds the bottle of water out but Magnus nods toward Isabelle and Clary falters imperceptibly before she switches directions.

Magnus watches as Clary hands the bottle to Isabelle, who takes it with a wide smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she says something to low for him to hear. Clary laughs though, breathless, and Magnus finds himself intrigued.

Looking up, he catches Alec’s eye and the two of them exchange looks as Isabelle and Clary talk for another minute before Clary takes a step back, tripping over air with a small yelp before turning on her heel and leaving the room posthaste.

The room’s silent for a minute before Alec clears his throat. Magnus sees Isabelle close her eyes as though in pain before pasting a bright smile on her face and turning towards her brother.

She tries to ignore his look, instead moving to brush an invisible piece of lint from the front of his jacket. Alec doesn’t say anything, and Magnus doesn’t either before Isabelle sighs exasperatedly and snaps, “What?”

Theatrically raising his brows, Alec just pleasantly returns, “Why don’t you tell us?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she just says, “So, she’s cute. What about it?”

Grinning, Alec pokes her shoulder. “You have a type,” he says knowingly. “Why don’t you just ask her out and save everyone involved-- including the long-suffering witnesses-- the pain of drawing it out.”

“We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to focus on you. And what a sight to focus on,” Izzy exclaims. “You look great, Alec.”

She throws a sharp look at Magnus that he has no hope of deciphering before she says, “Lydia won’t know what hit her.”

At that, it’s Alec’s turn to look uncomfortable.

Isabelle immediately jumps on the shift in expression, demanding, “What happened?”

Clearing his throat, Alec spares a fleeting glance at Magnus before admitting, “Lydia and I are no longer a thing.”

“You’re no longer a thing,” Isabelle repeats incredulously. “What?”

Shrugging, Alec just says, “We both decided that things had run their course and we should go our separate ways. We’re still friends just-- just nothing else.”

Magnus absorbs the information. The truth is, people rarely paid attention to their tailor and Magnus has been a fly on the wall of conversations some people would kill to know. He can’t quite believe Alec’s airing his business so nonchalantly in front of him but Magnus fulfills his role, remaining obscure.

That’s, at least, until Alec turns directly towards him and offers, “It’s probably hitting the news soon, so I didn’t see an issue letting someone know before it’s official. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Alec rubs the back of his neck, “I know that we’ve only known each other an hour,” he says, tone self-deprecating, “But I trust you. I don’t know why but I do.”

“Client confidentiality is a must in my business, I assure you.” Magnus smiles, just a little, adding, “I’d hope my friendship with Isabelle would vouch for me but just so you know, I’m not in the business of spreading gossip.” He arches a brow. “I have better things to do with my time. I am a busy man after all,” he sniffs.

Alec’s expression warms at the reassurance and he snorts a laugh. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad."

Taking a few steps over to Magnus, Alec holds out his hand. “Thank you. I know I was a little short with you when we first arrived and I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but helpful and I love this suit.”

Magnus slides his hand into Alec’s grip, their handshake professional even if Alec’s expression is much more open this second time around.

“You’re welcome, Alexander. I’m glad that Isabelle thought to mention my name. It’s been awhile since I’ve done such a commission and I have to admit that I’d forgotten how fun it can be, filling a rush order for a particularly influential client.”

“I’m influential, huh?” Alec’s voice is soft, searching, and Magnus can’t stop himself from leaning infinitesimally closer.

“Well, you’re only one of the most well-known journalists in The States, if not the world,” Magnus replies demurely. “I can’t wait to see how you photograph in my clothes.”

Close, Magnus can see the way Alec’s eyes widen and the way the faintest color sweeps across his cheeks before he pulls-- finally-- his hand from Magnus’s.

It’s over quicker than Magnus can blink and he can’t help but wonder if he didn’t just imagine the way Alec swept a lingering thumb across his palm.

Stepping back, Alec nods towards Izzy. “I hope I can do them justice,” he says before continuing, “I promised Iz that we’d get lunch soon and we’ve taken up enough of your time. While I love the craftsmanship of the second suit-- and you might have even gotten me into it if it was for a different occasion-- I think I’ll go ahead and order this black one.”

“Smart choice,” Magnus manages, still preoccupied before he shakes his head and snaps back to attention. He smiles brightly at Alec.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Alexander. I have to admit that I might watch your news segment regularly. It’s nice to meet the man behind the camera.”

“Yeah,” Alec asks, sounding pleased at the news. “I hope I don’t bore you.”

“Never,” Magnus vows. “Not even when I have no idea what treaty or legalese you’re talking about.”

Clearing his throat, Magnus steers the conversation away from his embarrassing habit. He just met the man-- Magnus doesn’t need to spill all of his secrets this morning.

He walks until he’s standing behind Alec and helps him shrug out of the jacket. He gestures toward the bathroom. “Feel free to change back into your street clothes while I hang this up.”

Alec follows his direction and disappears into the bathroom. Magnus doesn’t know quite when Isabelle moved but he’s suddenly being nudged in the ribs.

Wincing, Magnus jerks out of Isabelle’s particularly pointed reach.

“What?”

Pointing a finger in his direction, Isabelle’s tone is playfully accusatory as she replies, “Don’t play dumb with me, Bane. You were totally checking out my brother.”

Glaring, askance at both Isabelle’s forwardness and his own lack of discretion, Magnus merely scoffs and says, “He’s Alec Lightwood. Of course I was checking him out. I’d have to be dead not to take that man in.”

Izzy chastises him. “You weren’t being subtle,” she says dryly.

Rolling his eyes, Magnus’s voice is equal parts annoyed and amused as he says, “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure you’re very straight brother didn’t notice.”

Isabelle doesn’t say anything in response and when he looks over from where he was hanging the jacket back on the empty mannequin, he sees his friend looking like she’s chewing particularly cutting glass.

“What,” he wonders. “I might flirt a little but I’m very much aware that he’s not interested, Isabelle. I would never make a client uncomfortable, though I find it hard to believe that Alec is a homophobic bigot, considering the way he teased you earlier about my very lovely assistant.”

Isabelle laughs. Loud, echoing laughs that, quite frankly, startle Magnus.

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and waits for his possibly deranged friend to calm down. Isabelle quiets down to soft snickers after a few minutes, wiping under her eyes to clean up her running eyeliner.

“Alec is as from a homophobic asshole as you can get,” Izzy assures him. “I promise you didn’t make him uncomfortable. He’d have no problem telling you to get lost if you had.”

She shrugs. “Who’s to say. Alec probably didn’t notice you flirting but if he had then he must not have minded very much.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to make of that so he opts to ignore it, though he can’t deny that it lingers in his mind, thoughts twisting over those innocuous words.

He shakes his head, impatient at himself, as the bathroom door opens and Alec comes back out, dressed in the warm brown sweater and worn jeans.

Handing the suit to Magnus, Alec smiles easily. “Thanks again, Magnus. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“You’re more than welcome, darling. When do you need this suit again? I need a firm time.”

Squinting a little, Alec throws out, “How about Tuesday afternoon? Four? The gala’s at eight but I won’t get ready until the late afternoon. Does that work?”

“Perfect,” Magnus beams. “With a rush order, every extra hours counts. I’ll have this delivered to your home or office Tuesday afternoon.”

Tapping his pencil against his chin, Magnus thinks for a second, making sure that he has everything he needs.

“Oh! What color accent do you want for the pocket square?”

It’s a small thing but definitely a touch that most clients like to personalize. Magnus does his best to tailor every order to the client’s specifications and so he waits for Alec to think through options, hoping that it won’t be a fashion faux pas.

He once had a special commission for an orange paisley suit with a blue plaid pocket square and string tie. The client was over the moon with the finished product, even if Magnus had hated every stitch.

“Let’s go with a blue. I trust you can pick the best shade that will be a pop of color but won’t be overpowering or too dark?”

“I can do that,” Magnus agrees easily, happy with Alec’s choice. “Classic, masculine-- very you, darling.”

Magnus can’t resist and he’s treated to a soft smile as Alec ducks down, hiding his face from view.

Isabelle clears her throat. “Well, we’d best be getting to lunch. I’m starving and Alec’s paying so no need to dawdle. Right Alec,” she asks, studying her brother like a bug under her microscope.

“Yeah,” Alec says, voice rough.

“Have a good day you two and thanks for stopping by, Isabelle. It was nice seeing you.”

“We should get lunch soon.”

Magnus winks. “Stop by Clary’s desk on your way out and she can set something up for us.”

Izzy grins, nodding, before turning towards the door and leaving without a backwards glance, not waiting for Alec to follow.

Still, Alec doesn’t leave right away and Magnus is loathe to end their meeting.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Alexander.”

“That’d be nice, though I am out of the country a lot for work.”

“A journalist’s work is never done,” Magnus teases.

“It does seem like it sometimes.”

Taking a step closer, Magnus slowly says, “Well, maybe when you’re in town next you can call me and we’ll see if we can make our schedules work.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a business card and holding it out for Alec to take.

Alec reaches out slowly, as if afraid it’s a trap, before grabbing the card. His fingers brush over Magnus’s and they both still at the contact.

“Thanks,” Alec breathes before breaking the connection and taking the card, sliding it into his back pocket.

“Don’t mention it,” Magnus manages and smiles.

Taking a step, Alec starts to turn toward the door, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you around, Magnus.”

Nodding, Magnus doesn’t say anything, just watches as Alec leaves, carefully closing his office door with a quiet snick.

The minute the door closes, Magnus is blowing out a breath and falling back onto his couch with a muttered curse.

“Christ,” he whispers under his breath, working on his breathing.

While things had gotten off to a rocky start with Alec, there was just something about him that Magnus couldn’t put his finger on that made him want to come closer and learn more about the damnably closed-lip man.

Magnus couldn’t get a read on him. Cool one minute, bright enough to melt the polar caps the next. There’s something there that makes Magnus want to burrow closer and find out just what Alec’s hiding under the small smiles and brusque facade.

It’s interesting reconciling the man who reports the news in dangerous, tense locales with the approachable, long-suffering big brother he’d met today. Two sides of the same coin and Magnus can’t help but wonder what other sides there are to one Alec Lightwood.

Alas, he probably won’t see the man again, Magnus thinks glumly.

He’d put the ball in Alec’s court and while Alec had been everything polite about the invitation, Magnus doesn’t want to think that there’s anything more there but an exceptionally talented designer fulfilling a lucrative commission.

 _More’s the pity_ , he thinks and sighs again.

Lack of sleep starts to catch up to Magnus and with a quick look at the clock that hangs over his desk, Magnus decides that he can take a few hour nap before his early afternoon appointment with the textiles manager in Milan.

He’s asleep almost before he makes the choice, his last thought lingering on Alec and just how well he filled out a pair of jeans.


	4. Chapter 4

Looking up at the knock on his office door, Alec raises a brow at this floor’s administrative assistant.

“What’s up?”

Maia steps into his office and it’s then that he notices the garment bag slung over her shoulder. “Special delivery from a courier downstairs. I was told to give this to you immediately.”

Taking the bag, she hangs it up on a hook on the back of his door. Looking over her shoulder, she adds, “Are you ready for tonight?”

Alec looks back at his computer at his half-finished email to CNN’s publicist informing him of his next assignment that will start in two days. Most of his mind’s still on that whenever he replies, “Of course. It’s a press dinner. I’ve been to a million of these things. It’s a few hours of reviewing the biggest stories of the past year while waiters in white tie serve lukewarm chicken and undercooked carrots.”

He’s rewarded with Maia cracking a smile that’s more of a grin as she dryly offers, “No need to sound so excited, Lightwood. Aren’t you up for an award?”

Leaning back in his chair, Alec nods. “Yeah,” he confirms. “There are a lot of other great journalists covering a lot of important topics too, though. Competition is stiff.” He flashes a self-deprecating grin. “Better to keep my expectations low.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” She jerks her head to the nondescript garment bag. “A Magnus Bane original, though? That’s something worth celebrating.”

Alec doesn’t say anything, merely sends her a blank look. Maia rolls her eyes before shrugging defensively.

“What,” she asks. “I might’ve taken a peak inside. It's very classic for Bane.”

“Iz made an appointment with him. I liked him. He was very professional,” Alec says, almost to himself.

Taking a step or two back until she can lean her shoulder against the door jamb, Maia crosses her arms over her front as she replies, “I’ve heard that he’s pretty no nonsense. Everyone respects him and most fear him, at least a little. Did you know he started his company in high school? He was a millionaire by the time he graduated fashion design school.”

“I didn’t peg you as someone who kept up with that kind of thing.”

Maia shrugs. “What can I say? Bane’s cute and he’s built his empire from nothing. It’s attractive, all that passion and drive. So, I might skim the occasional article about him in People Magazine.”

“We all have our guilty pleasures.”

Glaring at him--though with little heat-- Maia turns on her heel and leaves Alec’s office. Thankful that the interruption is over, Alec turns back to his computer and looks over his proposed itinerary. He’ll be going to China for a few weeks. Part of his assignment is a character profile on the President, Xi Jinping, but he’ll also be reporting about a variety of problems coming out of China, including the Hong Kong protests and their increasing tensions with Russia.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary and Alec feels a familiar tension seep into his shoulders. He loves what he does but goddamn if it isn’t stressful. No matter how many times he puts himself in untenable positions, there’s always a little voice in his head that whispers that this is the last time, this is his last chance.

Still, Alec finds himself preoccupied this afternoon. He has to start getting ready for the awards ceremony in a couple of hours and he’d wanted to get as much work done as possible before then. Instead, he finds his eyes drawn to the garment back hanging on his door.

Telling himself that he’ll just take a peak at the finished product-- make sure that Magnus delivered what he ordered-- Alec stands and tosses the pen he’d been holding in a negligent grip onto his crowded desk. Taking the few steps over to the suit, Alec unzips the bag and takes a cursory look at the clothing.

It’s a lot of black.

Alec laughs a little as he shuts the door and takes the suit out. He sweeps a thumb over the front of the black linen jacket, along the silk stripe down the pant leg. Deciding to make sure it fits alright now instead of fifteen minutes before he’s set to leave, Alec quickly undresses and puts on the suit.

He doesn’t have a mirror in his office but even he can tell that it fits like a dream and must look the same. Extending his arms out, he doesn’t feel the tightness in the shoulders he had during the fitting last week and he’s gratified by his range of motion when he leans over his desk and reaches for the top drawer where he’d stashed his cuff links this morning when he’d first came in to the office.

Sliding the understated gold and silver cuff links into his sleeves, Alec shoots the cuffs, readjusts the jacket.

It’s a wonderful suit, he thinks, and makes a mental note to tell Magnus.

He doesn’t know how he’ll do that but it’s on his to-do list. As Alec snags the belt he’d also brought from home earlier, he replays over the fitting from a week ago.

What a mess he’d been, Alec chides himself. Never hearing about the man before, Alec had pictured a middle-aged designer whose excesses had started to betray him. Instead, he’d been treated to the sight of the most beautiful man he’d ever met. He’d been awestruck and unpardonably rude for it.

Magnus had introduced himself and Alec had reciprocated his easy friendliness for a heartbeat. For two or three seconds, Alec had forgotten himself.

He’d seen an attractive man and been enthralled. It had been just a moment, though, before he’d remembered who he was and what was at stake.

Alec didn’t have the luxury of guileless interest.

Still, Magnus had been everything magnanimous and Alec likes to think that he’d fixed the foot he’d stuffed into his mouth.

Damn but it had been hard to concentrate on the conversation. While he appreciated quality, Alec was mostly unfussy about his wardrobe. Magnus just kept asking questions, though, about formality and bow tie versus open throat and when the designer had thrown his little notebook to the ground in a careless gesture and gone to his knees to fiddle with his pants, Alec had grown alarmingly lightheaded.

Looking over Magnus to see his sister positively grinning hadn’t helped matters.

Lost in thought, Alec’s mouth tips up in a small smile as he thinks about how their fitting had ended. While Alec has no doubt that Magnus was just being polite, ever the friendly businessman, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to get to know him more.

And not with a business deal hanging over their heads but as acquaintances, maybe even friends.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Alec takes out a business card with edges soft from wear. It’s sturdy white cardstock and with elegant script engraved in bold black font. It’s simple for all its finery and Alec has an insatiable urge to learn more about the man behind the card.

Alec sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. He’s too damn busy to let himself become preoccupied with a man who is certainly not thinking twice about him.

Looking over at a clock, Alec sees he has an hour before he needs to leave for the venue. Deciding not to change, Alec goes back behind his desk. Instead of working, however, he pulls a book from his shelf. It’s an ARC and a promising one at that-- he respected the author and the premise he’d been given sounded intriguing.

It’s the work of a few minutes to put final touches on his look before Maia is buzzing him to let him know his driver is waiting downstairs.

The drive to the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium is bumper to bumper and he passes the time scrolling through half a dozen news sites.

He’s always on the cutting edge. There’s never really a down moment.

Stepping out of the town car, it’s onto a red carpet that’s been rolled out. There are a few press publications taking pictures and Alec strolls down the carpet, up the handful of stairs. There’s a spot to pose for photos, which he does with grace even if he really rather wouldn’t. Distantly, he recalls Magnus’s coy, _“I can’t wait to see how you photograph in my clothes.”_

His cheeks heat and he desperately hopes the cameras don’t pick up on it.

The evening progresses much as he’d known it would. The dinner is atrocious, mediocre and not filling in the slightest. It's a little weird to be here without a date, without Lydia in his ear making snide remarks, but Alec powers through and thankfully no one asks about it.

The night is saved, though, when he and his team wins Investigation of the Year for his look into the Assassination of fellow journalist, Jamal Khashoggi. He’s brought up to the stage and talks for a few minutes about freedom of speech and the duty of journalism and how Kashoggi paid the ultimate price for his criticism against Saudi leaders. 

As Alec takes his seat again and his eyes catch morosely on a half dozen wilted green beans, he can’t help but wonder if that’s his fate, too.

He plays with fire so often that he wouldn’t know what to do without the heat always licking at his heels.

His thoughts break off from that morbid line of thought when he feels his phone vibrate. Taking it out, unlocking it, Alec opens his texts to see a message from a contact simply labelled _J_.

 _Our usual place? I’ve booked room 1406_.

Alec stares down at the dim screen of his phone and feels the expression shift on his face, into something anticipatory. Well, he supposes, that settles his plans for the rest of the night.

He’d thought he’d go home to an empty apartment and pour a glass of whiskey while he worked for a few hours. A bit of an insomniac, Alec rarely fell straight to sleep unless travel had exhausted him.

_I’m at a work function tonight. I’ll be there at 11?_

Alec barely waits half a minute before his phone is vibrating with a reply.

 _See you then, Lightwood_.

Anticipation is a heady mix. While Alec had a strict policy against relationships-- that was a powder keg waiting to happen-- he didn’t have the same issue with casual hookups. There were a few men in a few cities he could rely on for their discretion. Jeremy, in New York, wasn’t out either and last Alec had seen him, had no plans to any time soon. His family was very Catholic-- two of his uncles were priests-- and his mother went to Mass three times a week without fail. 

A restaurateur in the East Village, they’d met one night when Alec had joined work friends at his establishment for a retirement party. Now, almost a year later, they met up once or twice a month whenever Alec was in town at the St. Regis.

The rest of the awards pass in dull monotony, though Alec takes note of the Emerging Journalist of the year-- a sophomore at UC Berkeley-- and a few other categories. It’s closer to midnight when his cab pulls up to St. Regis and Alec keeps his head low as he walks past the doorman, not relaxing until he’s in the elevator. Alone, he slouches against the back, raises a hand to tug his tie undone.

He’s unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt and breathes easier for it. Keeping his eye trained on room numbers, Alec finally comes to a stop down the long corridor when he sees 1406 in gold.

Mouth tipping up in an easy grin, Alec leans against the door jamb as he raises an arm, using his knuckles for a careless knock against the door.

He waits just a moment before it’s swinging open. Raising his head, Alec meets Jeremy’s eyes and straightens, stepping into the hotel room without a backwards glance, determined to enjoy these few hours he allows himself.

And later, when Jeremy tentatively offers to take him out some time-- his pick, whenever he’s free-- Alec shuts that down with barely a thought.

“No,” he replies shortly. They’re still breathing harshly from their latest round, staring up at the ceiling and not at each other. “That’s not what we are, Jeremy. What we are is convenience. I’m sure as hell not cut out for a relationship.”

He turns, spares a glance at a man he barely knows but knows just enough. “Are you okay with that? Tell me if you’re not now because I can’t pretend this is something it isn’t. I meet you at a hotel, we fuck, and one of us leaves before the other wakes up. It’s a good system and one I’m not willing to break. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Alec doesn’t much care one way or another. While it’d be an inconvenience, Alec is firm that he won’t pretend that this is something it’s not. 

He’s gratified when Jeremy just sighs and tells him, “You’re a cold son of a bitch, Lightwood. You know that, right,” before he leans over Alec and they both forget about anything as obscene as attachment.

 

Alec wakes up the next morning feeling decidedly gross. His partner is nowhere to be found and when he manages to wake up, he sees all evidence of another person has vanished.

Blowing out a breath, he stays in bed for just a moment more before throwing the sheet away from his body and climbing out of bed.

He makes it home unscathed, heading directly to his shower as soon as he enters his apartment. Scrubbing the night from his skin, Alec feels a hollow sense of satisfaction.

He takes these pieces, sweeps them up into a little pile until he has something resembling enough. It’s far from perfect; the polar opposite from ideal. He couldn’t give a fuck about Jeremy or his other _friends_. He wasn’t lying. 

They really were convenient hookups, ways to blow off steam, release the geyser of stress that’s always roiling just under the surface.

As he reaches for his body wash, Alec’s eyes cool as his mouth downturns. Christ, sometimes he wishes he had more-- that he could have more.

He doesn’t let himself think that too often but once in a while, a thought catches him off guard. Having a relationship, a proper partner.

It’s the antithesis to his life, that much he knows without a doubt.

Still. Alec’s always been more of a romantic than he likes to let on and it’s hard sometimes to see Izzy flirt unabashedly with anyone who catches her eye, with Jace flirting badly with Meliorn whenever the two cross paths at Taki’s.

Resolutely pushing those thoughts away, Alec finishes getting ready. Sliding his watch on, Alec sees he’s just on time to meet his siblings for brunch.

It’s Wednesday morning but both Jace and Izzy had insisted they could go in late. Isabelle, as the senior chemist at Idris Labs, had a pretty flexible schedule. Jace, for his part, owned a food truck and he’d been more than okay with pushing his hours back to see Alec.

Walking into their favorite brunch spot since they were teenagers, Alec sees his siblings already at a table. They perk up when he slides into the booth opposite them.

“Hey, bro,” Jace greets with a grin. “I caught the highlights of that press dinner. Congratulations!”

“Jace says that as if we didn’t watch them live. But, yes, congrats, hermano. We’re so proud of you.”

Shrugging, Alec merely offers, “I only did what was necessary. Koshoggi deserved to be more than front page news for a few weeks and the Saudi regime deserved the microscope I put them under.”

Thankfully, the waitress comes over and grabs their orders, all of which they know by heart so that they don’t even reach for the menus anymore.

Thankful for a breath, Alec looks up, first at Jace and then Isabelle. “So, what’s new with everyone? I feel like I haven’t seen you two in forever.”

“It’s been a week,” Isabelle says with a wry grin.

Nonetheless, they catch each other up on their lives. While they weren’t as close as they’d been before Alec had started travelling for work-- first as a freelance journalist and then signing on full time for CNN-- they liked to keep in touch. As long as Alec was within reach of a phone or laptop, they rarely went more than a few days without talking.

The next hour is a different kind of stress relief for Alec. He listens to Jace talk about his food truck and the cute guy that’s become a regular and listens as Isabelle shares her excitement for her upcoming date. The two of them make plans for dinner and Alec winces as they both look at him expectantly, as though knowing what he’s about to say.

“Actually,” he interjects when both of them have agreed they’re free Sunday night. “I’m leaving tomorrow for three weeks.”

Jace’s mouth tilts up but it’s barely a smile. “What a surprise.”

Stung, Alec snaps, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Isabelle holds out a hand, staving off any argument. “Not today. I’m enjoying my meal and I don’t need you two ruining things. Alec, Jace didn’t mean anything. Jace, you didn’t mean anything by that. Okay?”

Neither Alec nor Jace say anything. They’re staring at each other and Alec’s a little taken aback by Jace’s glare.

A part of him wants to know what the fuck his brother’s problem is but he’s tired and most of his day will be spent with work. Letting it go for now, there’s still an undercurrent of tension when the bill comes after the three of them have finished their milkshakes.

Jace is the first to leave, citing needing to get to work, and Alec watches him go, Izzy standing next to him.

“Wanna fill me in on what crawled up his ass since we last saw each other?”

Sighing, Isabelle loops her arm through his and they turn toward uptown where her lab is located. “Not my place,” she says simply.

Her response leaves him more irritated than before he’d asked but Alec bites his tongue, not completely sure that he even wants to open that can of worms.

They walk a few blocks before Isabelle needs to turn and Alec’s path to CNN headquarters takes him straight. She pulls him into a hug before stepping back and putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Be safe and don’t be a hero.” She smiles, just a little, and it’s equal parts resigned and chiding. “I love you, Alec.”

“Love you too, Iz.” Pulling her in for another hug, Alec holds on for a beat or two before finally releasing her and turning his own way.

Afternoon passes into night and Alec catches up on work. He has a dozen balls in the air at any given moment and keeping up with everything is a struggle. He signs off on reports and a few contracts that need final signatures. He makes a guest appearance on all three evening news hours, speaking as a special political commentator and doesn’t get back to his apartment until after midnight.

His flight is slated for five in the morning and Alec has just enough time to pack and make sure everything is in order before he’s being notified that the hired driver is waiting to take him to the airport.

Waiting to board his flight, Alec stops by Starbucks and orders a red eye. It’s strong as hell and exactly what he needs. Finding a seat at his gate, he fucks around on his phone for awhile. He sees a notification in his mentions and when he swipes over, he can’t stop his automatic grin.

It’s a picture from Tuesday’s press gala that a popular tabloid has tweeted. He’s at the photograph station and he knows he looks good. Magnus, however, has quoted that with the addition, _“Alec’s wearing a custom Magnus Bane. Doesn’t he look like a million bucks?”_

There are a few facetious emojis tagged on at the end and Alec huffs out a laugh as he likes the tweet. Going to Magnus’s profile, his eyes scan over the profile picture that shows him in low light. Scrolling a little, Alec sees Magnus is much more engaged on Twitter than he is and in a moment of weakness, he scrolls back up to the top and taps the follow button.

A little to his surprise, he gets the notification that Magnus has followed him back just a few minutes later. He didn’t think Magnus would be such an early riser, especially considering it’s not even light outside yet.

Alec doesn’t let his mind wander long, though, before he’s turning back to work. He spends what little remaining time he has before boarding begins to read over his notes. He continues that during most of his flight. Managing a few hours sleep, Alec still feels like death warmed over whenever he lands in China.

He has his credentials and passes ready and most of that first day is spent filling out forms with the Chinese government.

This assignment isn’t the longest he’s been on by far. Still, the three weeks seem to fly and drag by at the same time. He meets dozens of officials and uses what little free time he’s allowed to get a feel for the city and interview people on the fringes of his interest piece.

Every night he comes back to his hotel and types up his notes. Still, not all of his time is spent on China. He still has articles due for different newspapers back in the States and he spends a few hours every day keeping on top of things back home.

By the time his assignment is over-- he has all the information he’s going to get, his televised interview with Xi Jinping has been filmed-- Alec’s exhausted.

It’s an exhaustion that runs bone deep and when his car takes him back to the Hong Kong airport, Alec wants nothing more than a shower and his own goddamn bed.

The flight is uneventful and Alec surprises himself by choosing to read a book-- for pleasure even. The flight is uncomfortable no matter that he’s in business class and the first thing he does when he lands back in New York is call headquarters and get updated on what he’s missed and expectations for the next few days. 

Thankfully, Jia tells him in no uncertain terms to take a day or two before he shows his face at work and Alec laughs and agrees. She usually insists that he take a bit of a break with longer assignments and luckily, it’s never more than two days.

She doesn’t know he always has work at home and Alec has no intention of telling her.

Most of the first day is spent faceplanted in his bed after the world’s most efficient shower.

The second day, though, Alec decides to pack up his laptop and notes for the book he’s been working on for the past six months. The publisher wanted a tentative first draft by the end of summer and with only four or five months left, Alec was woefully short.

It was a a treatise about America’s current political climate with personal anecdotes thrown in. Alec was slogging through it but it was dense as hell and he had enough research to make a Ph.D candidate wince.

Walking into his favorite little coffee shop in Brooklyn-- he’d discovered it during college and had been a regular ever since-- Alec settles in. Spreading his notes out, he focuses on work. 

He works steadily, wrapping up the current chapter he’d been working on when he suddenly feels eyes on him. Sighing a little-- it happened from time to time even at the most inopportune times-- Alec looks up and freezes.

His chest squeezes a little as his gaze meets warm brown eyes.

“Magnus,” he says under his breath, too low for anyone to hear.

Magnus’s mouth kicks up like he heard Alec after all and then he’s grabbing his drink from the barista and making his way over to him.

“Alexander. Fancy meeting you here.”

Nodding toward his sprawled out pile of work, Alec replies, “I just flew back into the city last night. I thought I’d get some work done in a setting that’s a little more casual than the office.”

Blowing across the top of his drink to cool it, Magnus eyes the pile. “What are you working on?”

“A book, if you can believe that. Something political and dire as befitting the current administration.”

Magnus rolls his eyes before grinning. “I can’t wait to read it. I’m sure you’ll do justice to the topic.”

“I’m trying,” Alec says as he jerks a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “What are you doing here?”

Magnus’s expression is amused as he nods outside the shop. “This is the closest coffee shop to my apartment. I come in here almost every day. I’ve never seen you here before, though.”

“I found this place in college and have been coming ever since. I don’t come here as often as I might like but when I’m in the city, it’s at least once a week.”

“What a coincidence,” Magnus murmurs before perking up. “You mentioned you just flew back in last night. Were you somewhere devastatingly exotic?”

“China,” Alec replies dryly. “It was painfully mundane.”

Looking intrigued, Alec watches as Magnus hesitates for a bare moment before he gestures toward the chair across from him. Before he can ask, Alec is already waving him toward the empty seat. “Please, sit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you stand forever.”

“Thank you, darling.” Magnus shoots him a smile before taking a seat. It’s oddly graceful, elegant for such an everyday gesture.

“Now,” Magnus says briskly, crossing one leg over the other and staring at Alec with something indefinable in his eye. “How was China, as you put it, painfully mundane?”

Relaxing in his seat, Alec’s look is wry as he says, “It was work, Magnus. I spent an overwhelming majority of my time trying to get the truth from people determined not to give me any. It was exhausting. I have some great content that will start to drop in a few days but these trips are hardly ever pleasure for me.”

“Don’t say you’re a workaholic now. That ruins a fair bit of the image I had of you in my head-- you know what they say about all work and no play, Alexander.”

“My job is demanding,” Alec replies with a short laugh. “Sorry to spoil things, but any image you have of me is probably categorically false. As Isabelle’s always telling me, I’m a bit of a dud.”

Raising a brow, Magnus repeats, “A dud? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m focused on my career. As it happens, that career is more high-octane than most. It doesn’t leave a lot of room for anything else.”

“More’s the pity,” Magnus says softly and Alec’s suddenly uncomfortably when he turns sharp eyes to him. 

It’s like he sees everything Alec tries to hide, everything he doesn’t say.

And then Magnus is brightening. “Are you one of those people who become horribly distracted if anyone so much breathes in their direction while working?”

Alec sets a deadpan look over Magnus. “I’m a journalist. I can pretty much work through anything. Why?”

“Well,” Magnus draws out and Alec mostly thinks he imagines the tentative look in his eye. “I have a few hours before I have to be in my office but I have some work I could get done before going in. I was thinking a change of scenery might help me too, if you’re willing.”

It takes Alec a moment to understand what he’s trying to say but then he grins when he does, a small, pleased little thing. “Feel free,” he says and shoves some of his stuff away from what’s officially Magnus’s side of the table.

Magnus returns that smile before reaching down to his bag and pulling out a sheaf of papers.

And no matter what Alec might’ve said just a few moments before, he’s definitely distracted as he also pulls out a pair of black framed glasses, slipping them on absently while organizing his little pile of paper.

When he looks up and catches his eye, Magnus is sheepish. “I hate the things,” he says, pointing to the glasses. “But I need them, so. I know it doesn’t exactly fit my own dashing reputation.”

“I like them.” Alec’s reply is out of his mouth before he can think and while he feels heat climb into his cheeks, he’s rewarded by a pleased if surprised smile from Magnus. Swallowing hard, he adds, “They suit you.”

“Thank you, darling.” A teasing light comes into Magnus’s eyes as he continues, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Alec doesn’t know how to respond to that without getting embarrassingly tongue tied, so he just looks down at his laptop and reads the same sentence seven times without comprehending it.

It’s absurd but Alec is quickly growing familiar with the way Magnus is proving the exception to his most ironclad rules. He’s met people all of the world from all different backgrounds and he rarely has a problem engaging them in conversation. It’s part of his job and one that he’s good at even if those closest to him would be a little surprised to learn just how competent he is at socializing.

In his line of work, that particular skill set is crucial to forming ties and establishing trust.

With Magnus, however, that all goes out the window. The man makes an innocuous enough comment and Alec finds every thought in his head flitting away. A part of him wishes desperately that he could flirt back but he can’t-- that wouldn’t be fair to either of them-- not to mention that it would be just a little presumptuous.

Alec has a sinking suspicion that Magnus is friendly with everyone. What a faux pas it would if be if Alec read more into things.

He shudders at just the thought.

Magnus doesn’t say anything else and Alec manages to turn his focus back to his work. To his surprise, Magnus is an acceptable work partner. He doesn’t click his pen, doesn’t have a need to fill the silence that’s fallen over their little corner of the coffee shop. He scans through documents, signing every so often, and every time Alec looks up, Magnus appears deep in thought. He has the endearing habit of bringing his pen up to his mouth to chew absently on the cap and it’s a little tick that Alec wouldn’t have suspected but enjoys nonetheless.

He’s startled, then, when he’s ass deep in research for a particular law he wants to use-- he needs to get a deep understanding of it before he can even begin explaining what it means and why it’s important-- when Magnus bites back a curse.

He looks up to meet Magnus’s incredulous gaze.

“I’m sorry, but it looks like I’m running late for my afternoon meeting. I hadn’t even realized so much time had passed.”

Looking down at the corner of his laptop, Alec’s brows raise as he sees they’ve been sitting together for over four hours.

“We should’ve set an alarm,” he says with a stunned smile.

Gathering his work, Magnus packs up his things as he returns Alec’s expression. “Yes, that would’ve been good thinking. I didn’t anticipate getting so distracted,” he admits.

“You’re easy to share a table with.”

“Thank you, Alexander. I’m glad I wasn’t a nuisance.” Magnus laughs and a part of Alec leans into the sound, no matter that he stays in place.

Magnus stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He takes a single step backward, toward the front door. “How long are you in town for this time around?”

Pausing to think, Alec finally offers, “As long as nothing crops up, I’m in New York for at least a few months. Most of my time needs to be spent working on this damned thing,” he says, nodding toward the evidence of his writing.

“Maybe I’ll see you around then. Bye, darling.”

Alec nods in acknowledgement and watches as Magnus turns on his heel and strides out of the little coffee shop, looking too big for the place, his presence too striking for a regular little coffee shop.

Blowing out a breath, Alec wonders if he’ll see Magnus again and if so, when. Most of him hopes he does and soon.

There’s a little piece, though, that he tries to tamp down on that whispers maybe it’s best if they don’t see each other again.

Something tells him that Magnus is different to everyone else, even if it's in ways he can't quite definite yet.

Shaking his head impatiently, Alec pushes any and all thoughts of Magnus Bane out of his head. The truth is, they probably won’t see each other again for months, if that.

He has bigger things to worry about than an interesting fashion designer who pulls off glasses like he was born for them.

 

Except the next morning, Alec comes back to the little Brooklyn coffee shop and almost immediately, his gaze lands on Magnus.

Magnus, who looks up with a smile that only grows when he sees the book bag over Alec’s shoulder.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, just like he had yesterday and Alec laughs, a quick burst, while he tries to recover.

“What are you doing here?” It could come off as rude, short, but Alec’s already nearing the table and bringing his bag down to rest on the floor against the chair that sits across from Magnus.

Magnus shrugs. “I have work to get through and I can do that just as easily here as I can in my office. My office doesn’t have such a view, after all,” he says with a little grin that reads just as coy as it is hesitant.

Alec doesn’t linger over the words. Peering at the table, Alec nods toward the half that has stuff on it; the other half of the table is perfectly cleared off. “Is this seat taken?”

“Yes, by you, darling.” Magnus beams at him and gestures grandly for Alec to take the seat opposite him.

Getting settled in, Alec pops up a few minutes later to order a coffee for himself as well as a refill for Magnus. The morning passes much like the past afternoon had. They both work on their own things but together and it’s odd but it fills Alec with a buzzing energy that itches just under his skin.

He likes the quiet and while he’s loathe to admit something so whimsical-- even to himself-- he likes the quiet with Magnus even more.

They don’t talk much that day, both focused on their work. Alec’s the one that has to leave first that day, off to the studio to shoot a debate between two political leaders of different parties. Magnus nods in acknowledgement, wishes him a productive afternoon, but nothing else.

So it’s pure coincidence when Alec goes right back to the little coffee shop the next morning and sees Magnus for the third day in a row.

It becomes a thing after that-- or really, Alec thinks, since the very beginning. And while the first week or so is filled with comfortable silence and the sounds of typing, the dull thrum of everyone else in the coffee shop nice in the background, Magnus and Alec rarely talk.

They both seem to want to preserve the spell that’s fallen over them but then one day Magnus is obviously distracted. He fidgets with his papers and Alec feels his eyes on him every four seconds it seems until finally, exasperated and fond-- too fond for the duration of their acquaintance, that’s for sure-- Alec looks up and meets Magnus’s eyes.

“What’s with you today?”

Magnus stills and then launches into a rambling rant about best friends who think they know best but really don’t know jack shit. Alec surprises himself when he bursts out laughing when he learns that Magnus’s best friend, Ragnor, has been surprising him with a different treat every day in the hopes that he’ll take the hint and take a break from things.

“He’s gotten me a gift card to a bookstore, a wine box subscription, and he’s started leaving little hints all over the office for me to take a vacation. There are little palm trees on the kitchen counter and Clary has started talking about the weather in a different tropical locale every day for the past two weeks. The man is driving me insane, Alexander.”

Shaking his head a little, the mood lightens considerably over their table as they both abandon any semblance of work. Instead, they order more coffee and talk.

They get to know each other a little better, piece by piece. Alec learns about Ragnor and Raphael and Catarina and he takes his own turn to talk about his siblings and how they drive him crazy but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After that day, something shifts in their budding friendship. They spend a few minutes every day catching up with the other and it often devolves entirely into meandering conversations that poke and prod at what seems to be laying just under the surface.

There are some topics Alec doesn’t broach and Magnus gently hints before backing away entirely once he realizes the off-limit subjects-- the confidential aspects of his job, his dating history. Though Alec talks a little bit about Lydia-- by all accounts they were together since college-- he’s strangely reticent to share as much as he might’ve with anyone else.

He doesn’t want to lie to Magnus. Not about Lydia and not about what Lydia helped hide.

It’s a month later and Magnus and Alec have seen each other almost every day since that first afternoon at the coffee shop. Alec is dreadfully behind in his projected timeline to complete his book but he finds that he can’t care overmuch, not when he’s having so much fun getting to know Magnus.

He doesn’t look the man up, doesn’t want to learn about the famous designer before either of them are ready. He takes what Magnus shares and becomes just a little more infatuated every day.

He can’t tell if Magnus feels the same, one iota of what Alec’s feeling. It’s all a moot point anyway, he tells himself but. Still. He wonders if it’s as one sided as it seems or if-- in another world, another life-- there could be something more there.

Everything is going well until Alec gets the call from CNN’s headquarters that he’ll be leaving the next afternoon for his next assignment.

He takes the call and as he listens to the proposal, a part of him feels the familiar rush of adrenaline. There’s another part, though, that’s full of the tiniest bit of disappointment.

Four months.

It’s still not the longest assignment he’s been on. Not by far. But his mind skips to Magnus and their routine and even as he agrees immediately to his assignment, he’s dreading telling Magnus.

Magnus, who’s become an unwitting friend over the past month.

When they meet at the coffee shop just a couple of hours later, Magnus takes one look at him and immediately asks, “What’s wrong?”

Alec smiles, just a little, at Magnus reading him so well. It dies on his lips though as he opens his mouth to reply before getting out, “I got my next assignment. I leave tomorrow.”

He watches as Magnus’s smile dims, as he settles back in his seat as he absorbs the news. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It’s silent for a minute before Magnus looks up and smiles wanly. “How long?”

Wincing, Alec replies, “Four months. Depending on how it all unfolds, though, it could be extended.”

“Well,” Magnus says and it’s clear that it’s trying to be bright but fails spectacularly, “Do you have plans for tonight?”

Alec blinks. “Plans? Tonight?”

Something thaws in Magnus’s expression as he watches Alec’s confusion. “Yes, darling, tonight. If you’re going to be away for half a year, I’d like to see you one more time before you go. If you’re amenable, we could have dinner together.”

“That sounds great, Magnus.” Alec’s voice is soft, just above a whisper.

Magnus’s gaze warms even further at Alec’s easy acquiescence. “Wonderful. I’ll make the arrangements and text you the address-- Oh, we would need to exchange numbers for that, I suppose.”

It takes Alec a spare second to realize that the two of them haven’t even exchanged numbers yet. By tacit agreement, they both had just shown up to the coffee shop ever morning, letting the other know they day before if there would be a change.

“Yeah,” Alec breathes. “Let’s do that.”

The two of them exchange numbers and it’s such a small gesture but it lights Alec up. Though, he tries his damnedest to hide just how effected he is by having Magnus’s cell number.

The two of them don’t even try to turn back to their work after that. They spend the rest of the morning talking and there’s a new energy lingering in the undertones of their conversation. It’s almost frenetic, an impending knowledge that they only have this last day before they’ll be apart for the foreseeable future.

Magnus leaves in the early afternoon after half a dozen progressively more annoyed texts from Ragnor. He leaves with a promise to make the arrangements-- something private, away from prying eyes-- and leaves with his customary flourish.

Alec watches him leave and wonders how he’ll survive dinner with the growing acknowledgement that he’s falling for Magnus and the knowledge that there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr or twitter @carmenlire!


End file.
